I 


A   SPINSTER'S   STORY. 


BY 

M.  A.  F. 


He  that  writes, 
Or  makes  a  feast,  more  certainly  invites 
His  judges  than  his  friends  ;  there's  not  a  guea* 
Bnt  will  find  something  wanting,  or  ill  dregt," 


s» 


NEW  YORK: 

CARLETOJY,  PUBLISHER,  413  BROADWAY. 
MDCCCLXVI. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

G.    W.    CAKLETON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Soutnern  Dmnct  of  New  York. 


TO 

Mrs.  Rev.  J.  H.  BURTIS 

THE   FOLLOWING   PAGES   ARE   INSCRIBED 
IN    REMEMBRANCE 

OF   THE    UNLIMITED   KINDNESS    FOR    WHICH    THE   AUTHOR    WILL    EVER 
FEEL    MOST   DEEPLY     INDEBTED. 

M.  A.  F. 


A   SPINSTER'S    STORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"Such  strange  and  hidden  things  the  future  hath  in  store, 
That  man  could  not  believe  should  he  be  told  before ; 
Nor  would  it  profit  him  if  he  did  know  the  end 
To  which  the  uye  and  downs  of  every  day  portend  ! 
Enough  to  do  what's  right,  whate'er  our  lot  may  be. 
What  is  beyond  the  present  let  us  wait  to  see." — Old  Poem. 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  write  of  myself ;  not  that  I  should 
have  nothing  to  say,  for  a  middle-aged  woman  who  has  trav- 
eled much,  mingled  wilh  many  different  and  strange  people, 
and  occupied  both  a  pleasing  and  painful  position  in  that  mot- 
ley multitude  called  society,  might  certainly  recall  much  to 
fill  a  volume,  but  for  the  reason  that  the  most  important  points 
of  my  history  I  wish  to  keep  exclusively  to  myself,  and  also 
because  I  have  long  been  haunted  with  the  idea  that  I  should 
be  far  better  employed  in  arranging  for  publication  the  jour- 
nals of  some  of  my  friends,  which  now  lie  on  my  table  be- 
fore me ;  whenever  I  have  glanced  over  their  pages,  it  has 
seemed  to  me  that  their  narrative  would  be  well  worth  a 
perusal.  Now  as  my  age  is  over  three  score  years,  I  must 
have  come  to  the  years  of  discretion,  and  ought  to  know  what 
is  likely  to  please  that  most  severe  of  critics — -the  public. 
However,  should  the  attempt  prove  a  failure,  I  shall  always 
feel  that  the  fault  was  not  in  them,  but  that  they  lost  their 
interest  while  passing  through  my  hands. 

In  one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  remote  seclusions  of 
Llanwrost  in  Caernarvonshire,  I  passed  the  halcyon  days  of 
ray  childhood,  and  as  soon  as  I  felt  myself  no  longer  a  child, 
being  left  to  follow  the  bend  of  my  inclinations,  I  dipped 
rather  deeply  into  the  follies  of  the  flirt,  until  time  bade 
exeunt  to  my  maidenhood,  and  my  fate  designed  me  a  spin- 
ster for  life  ;  why,  of  course  I  shall  not  say, —  that  is  the  sanctity 
of  every  old  maid,  and  no  man  or  woman  has  a  right  to  pry 


8  a  spinster's  story. 

into  it.  Tt  is  said  that  there  is  a  turning  point  in  every  one  s 
life,  and  that  upon  this,  trivial  as  the  event  may  seem  at  the 
time,  depends  the  whole  course  of  our  future  destiny.  If  this 
he  true,  I  know  full  well  when  I  trifled  with  this  golden  mo- 
ment which  could  never  again  return  to  me.  For  fifteen  years 
I  had  lived  for  one  aim  only,  and  just  when  I  felt  this  with- 
in my  grasp,  I  saw  it  snatched  suddenly  from  me  forever  : 
unconscious  of  anything  save  my  own  wretchedness,  I  joined 
a  party  of  friends  who  were  taking  leave  of  our  mountains  for 
the  land  of  the  renowned  Washington,  and  it  was  not  until  I 
found  myself  upon  the  broad  expanse  of  the  mighty  AtJantic, 
that  I  realized  the  rashness  of  my  procedure.  After  our  arriv- 
al we  went  to  Philadelphia,  where  we  had  not  remained  a  week 
before  my  companions  determined  to  start  for  the  West,  to  pur- 
sue their  vocations  as  farmers.  I  bade  them  good-bye,  and  my 
dream  was  over ;  I  burst  into  tears,  and  said  to  myself,  "  Ellen 
Morgan,  you  are  in  a  strange  country,  without  a  friend  !  " 

I  remained  at  the  hotel  until  my  money  was  all  gone,  ex- 
pecting remittances  from  Wales,  but  none  came  ;  what  to  do  I 
knew  not.  and  I  passed  a  day  and  a  night  in  the  most  indescri- 
bable misery.  Debt  I  abhorred,  and  I  must  leave  my  room  at 
the  hotel,  and  wander  the  streets  in  quest  of  a  better  fate.  As 
a  little  child  clinging  to  its  mother  for  protection,  I  craved  the 
guardianship  of  the  Parent  of  all ;  and  calmed  if  not  comfort- 
ed, I  arose  to  meet  the  changes  and  chances  of  an  eventful  day. 

I  sat  at  a  window  looking  out  upon  the  busy  throng  below  — 
for  the  street  was  filled  with  pedestrians  on  this  bright  May 
morning,  and  many  would  have  found  amusement  in  watching 
the  motley  group  as  they  passed  along  ;  but  my  thoughts  were 
not  here,  and  far  away  they  wandered,  until  a  knock  at  my 
door  arrested  my  attention.  I  opened  it ;  there  stood  a  little 
urchin  holding  something  towards  me,  saying,  "  To-day's  pa- 
per, ma'am  ?  "  Mechanically  I  took  it  of  the  boy,  and  gave 
him  the  last  remaining  coin  in  my  possession.  Then  sitting 
down,  I  indifferently  glanced  over  the  columns  and  was  lay- 
ing the  paper  aside,  when  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  advertise- 
ment "  Wanted,  a  lady  teacher  of  the  harp,  to  instruct  a  young 
la"dy  three  times  a  week,"  &c.  This  riveted  my  attention,  for, 
although  my  education  had  been  deficient  in  some  branches, 
still  of  this  instrument  I  felt  myself  complete  mistress.  Often 
when  a  child,  I  would  hide  myself  in  the  room  where  my 
brother  received  his  lessons,  listen  attentively  to  all  the  in- 
structions, and  as  soon  as  teacher  and  pupil  had  left  the  room, 
which  was  never  until  the   latter  had  tried  to  the  utmost  the 


A  spinster's  story.  9 

Job's  patience  of  the  poor  professor,  I  flew  from  my  retreat, 
anil  began  my  practicing  upon  the  harp.  This  did  not  escape 
my  father's  observation,  and  one  day  he  said  to  the  teacher, 
"Oh,  I  see  you  will  never  make  anything  of  that  fellow,  take 
this  girl,  she  is  always  fingering  those  strings,  perhaps  you  can 
do  something  with  her,"  and  I  became  a  lover  of  the  instru- 
ment, so  that  I  could  not  tear  myself  from  the  companion  of 
many  a  lonely  hour,  and  had  brought  this  harp  with  me ; 
this,  together  with  my  little  wardrobe  comprised  all  I  pos- 
sessed in  the  world. 

Throwing  down  the  newspaper,  I  flew  to  my  old  friend, 
drew  off  its  many  wrappings,  and  clinging  to  it,  I  caressed  it 
and  wept  over  it  as  a  child.  Then  preparing  the  long-neglected 
strings,  I  sat  down  as  I  had  often  done  before,  that  the  soft, 
sweet  strains  might  soothe  my  troubled  spirit,  and  they  did  not 
fail  even  now,  for  I  arose  with  better  hopes,  and  endeavoring  to 
rely  upon  Him  who  alone  could  direct  my  wandering  steps,  I 
proceeded  in  answer  to  the  advertisement. 

It  was  a  stately  mansion  in  one  of  the  principal  streets,  and 
as  the  man-servant  showed  me  into  the  ante-room,  a  feeling  of 
awe  crept  over  me  when  I  remembered  that  my  situation  was  a 
very  awkward  one  ;  with  no  letters,  no  testimonials,  no  reference 
of  any  kind.  What  to  do  I  knew  not,  and  I  had  resolved  to 
make  my  immediate  escape  unnoticed,  when  a  gentleman  en- 
tered the  room  ;  there  was  in  his  address  something  so  pleasing 
and  affable,  that  my  trepidity  instantly  vanished,  and  we  chat- 
ted freely  for  some  minutes  upon  European  affairs,  and  various 
matters,  and  appearing  fully  satisfied  with  this  slight  knowl- 
edge of  me,  he  led  me  up  stairs  to  a  spacious  apartment,  and 
placing  a  harp  before  me  requested  me  to  pass  my  opinion  upon 
it.  The  instrument  was  a  superior  one,  and  its  rich,  full  tones 
must  have  vibrated  the  house,  for  I  discerned  several  forms 
upon  the  staircase,  and  when  I  had  finished  playing  I  heard  low 
voices  paying  me  or  the  harp  many  a  compliment  The  gentle- 
man left  me  to  fetch  my  pupil,  and  in  his  absence  I  believe  I 
imagined  girls  of  evecy  possible  size,  age,  cast  and  color,  until  he 
*  again  made  his  appearance,  leading  a  young  girl  by  the  hand, 
which  put  an  end  to  all  further  conjectures  upon  that  subject. 

"Miss  Morgan,  my  daughter  Lydia." 

I  arose  to  meet  the  blushing  girl,  and  although  I  could  not  have 
told  why,  there  was  an  air  about  her  that  made  me  feel  irresist- 
ibly drawn  towards  her.  I  had  seen  many  fine  looking  girls 
before,  but  never  one  who  impressed  me  more  favorably  than 
this  Lydia.  The  fine,  round,  full  figure,  that  clear  red  and 
1* 


10  a    -  imnstf.k's    STORY. 

white  complexion  and  cast  of  features,  made  mc  whisper  to 
myself"  you  are  of  a  good  old  stock,  which  the  enervating  ef- 
fects of  this  climate  has  not  yet  entirely  annihilated,  I  think 
In  any  she  would  have  been  very  attractive,  for  there  was  an 
ease  and  grace  about  her  which,  added  to  her  natural  beauty, 
made  her  more  than  ordinarily  prepossessing.  Her  eyes  were 
very  dark,  if  not  Mack,  and  in  their  depths  you  seemed  to  read 
the  purity  and  truth  of  the  soul  beneath  ;  then  the  glossy,  black 
tresses  which  many  a  girl  of  seventeen  would  have  confined  by 
some  of  the  restraints  of  art,  waved  at  will;  and  to  my  fancy 
gave  a  double  charm  to  her  whole  appearance,  but  more  than 
all,  there  was  that  which  renders  the  most  ordinary  girl  beauti- 
ful,—  a  sweet  and  child-like  simplicity  that  pervaded  her  whole 
being 

Her  father  left  us;  for  a  long  time  we  chatted  familiarly 
upon  the  various  topics ;  I  found  her  very  well  informed,  and 
very  pleasing.  She  played  and  sung  for  me,  and  hers  was  one 
of  those  voices  so  liquid  and  pure,  that  its  strains  might  have 
melted  the  stoutest  heart;  and  her  execution  upon  that  grand 
piano  was  with  a  skill  and  rapidity  that  was  electrifying.  I 
admired  two  paintings,  she  told  me  they  were  hers,  and  lead- 
in  gme  into  another  room,  showed  me  an  easel  upon  which  rest- 
ed an  unfinished  portrait  of  a  younger  sister.  1  took  up  a  few 
scraps  that  lay  upon  a  table,  and  snatching  them  playfully  from 
me,  she  exclaimed  "Oh !  you  must  not  see  those,  they  are 
strictly  private." 

"The  likeness  of  some  favorite  individual,  I  suppose." 

"  Favorite  !  "  and  she  burst  into  a  merry  laugh,  "  promise  me 
you  will  keep  a  secret,  and  you  shall  see." 

"  Secrets,  my  dear  '!  I  think  every  old  maid  has  secrets  that 
will  go  down  to  the  grave  with  her,  so  if  you  tell  me  yours  it 
will  only  make  one  of  that  number." 

"  Well  then,  you  may  see,"  and  she  laid  the  papers  in  my 
hands. 

I  shall  not  say  what  I  expected  to  see,  but  what  I  saw  was  a 
collection  of  caricatures  which  brought  from  me  the  most  uni'e- 
strained  bursts  of  laughter. 

"  You  do  not  scold  me  'i "  she  said,  as  she  looked  inquiringly 
into  my  face. 

"  Sou  do  not  give  me  time,"  I  replied,  as  soon  as  I  could 
cease  laughing.  Perhaps,  if  one  of  these  were  upon  me  I 
might." 

"  Oh,  1  know  it- is  wrong,"  she  added  with  a  serious  expres- 
sion passing  over  her  face,  "  but  sometimes  the  spirit  moves  me 
and  1  cannot  rest  until  I  do  it." 


a  spinster's  story.  11 

I  remained  two  hours,  which  seemed  to  me  only  half  that 
time,  and  saw  sufficient  to  give  me  a  most  pleasing  impression 
of  the  character  of  Lydia  Villiers,  and  charmingly  prepossessed 
with  my  new  pupil,  1  arranged  the  hours  for  the  lessons,  and 
took  my  departure. 

I  had  now  no  further  anxiety  of  pecuniary  difficulty,  for 
although  I  had  stated  such  terms  as  I  thought  proper,  Mr.  Vil- 
liers informed  me  that  these  were  far  too  low.  and  settled  that 
matter  himself.  Thankful  for  this  successful  beginning,  I  resign- 
ed myself  to  a  residence  of  several  years  in  Philadelphia,  until 
some  change  in  my  family  affairs  should  admit  of  my  return 
home. 

The  next  morning  was  the  Sabbath  ;  1  awoke  early,  for  the 
prospect  of  attending  a  place  of  worship  was  one  of  such  an  in- 
terest as  could  never  he  understood  by  any  but  those  who  take 
delight  in  that  privilege,  and  have  been  deprived  of  it  by  a  long 
and  tedious  voyage.  My  busy  thoughts  occupied  me  until  the 
spring  breezes  wafted  in  at  my  open  window  the  chime  of 
church  bells,  and  charmed  with  the  sweet  sound,  I  hastily  dress- 
ed and  went  in  the  direction  of  the  solemn  peal  which,  to  my 
great  satisfaction,  led  me  to  that  form  of  worship  I  so  much 
loved. 

The  service  as  a  whole  was  very  imposing,  and  when  it  was 
over,  and  I  was  leaving  the  edifice,  the  sacred  words  which  I 
had  heard  had  made  so  deep  an  impression  upon  me,  that  any 
object  whatsoever,  must  have  been  most  peculiar  in  its  character, 
to  arrest  my  notice.  As  I  was  leaving  the  pew,  which  opened 
upon  one  of  the  side  aisles,  a  singular  looking  individual  attract- 
ed my  attention.  He  was  a  man  of  about  sixty  or  more,  re- 
markably small  and  shrivelled  in  appearance  ;  in  fact,  the  face 
was  such  a  combination  of  wrinkles,  that  if  you  looked  for  the 
forehead  you  found  that  part  of  his  visage  so  contracted,  that 
the  very  eye  brows  formed  part  of  the  peruke  that  was  intend- 
ed to  conceal  the  gray  locks,  which  nevertheless  would  protrude 
from  either  side.  An  umbrella  that  might  have  protected  a 
half-dozen  such  as  he  from  wind  and  weather,  was  under  one 
arm,  keeping  him  at  a  respectful  distance  from  every  one,  for 
none  would  have  relished  a  thrust  from  the  huge,  pointed  end 
which,  from  its  position,  seemed  ready  to  challenge  the  whole 
congregation.  In  one  hand  was  a  handkerchief,  in  the  other  a 
pair  of  spectacles,  which  the  palsied  hands  were  attempting  to 
raise  to  his  sunken  eyes.  At  last,  after  many  an  effort  which 
was  distressing  to  behold,  the  golden  wire  rested  upon  the  little 
skeleton  of  a  nose,  and  as  he  turned  himself  about  as  though  to 
take  a  view  of  those  in  the  church,  my  eyes  rested  upon  the 


1-  \    SPINS  :  i..:"s    STORY. 

various  articles  that  formed  his  costume.  They  were  of  costly 
material,  while  upon  an  ungloved  hand  were  rings  in  which 
diamonds  and  other  precious  stones  glittered  ;  beside  this, 
around  his  neck  over  bis  coat,  he  wore  a  gold  chain  of  a  sin- 
gularly large  size,  and  attached  to  this,  hanging  at  his  breast, 
was  a  portrait  whose  dimensions  wore  as  extraordinary  as  the 
chain  itself.  Now,  had  his  appearance  been  such  as  to  desig- 
nate him  one  of  the  sons  of  poverty,  one's  sympathy  and  com- 
passion  might  have  been  excited,  but  not  so  much  one's  curiosity  ; 
for  it  seems  natural  in  us  to  overlook  whatever  is  strange  and 
phenomenal  in  the  poor  ;  perhaps  we  allow  ourself  too  often  to 
conclude  that  their  mode  of  living  enervates  the  faculties  of  the 
mind  and  heart.  But  this  individual  was  undoubtedly  a  wealthy 
man,  and  as  he  turned  round  my  curiosity  was  so  intense,  that 
I  stood  and  gazed  intently  upon  him. 

Nearly  all  the  congregation  had  left  the  church,  still  I  saw 
his  attention  was  drawn  towards  the  pews  of  one  of  the  side 
aisles.  I  looked  in  that  direction,  and  saw  a  female  form  still 
kneeling.  He  walked  to  the  door  of  the  pew,  and  said  in  a 
voice  that  was  scarcely  audible,  "  Anna,  come." 

The  figure  arose  from  its  kneeling  posture,  and  I  saw  it  was 
a  young  girl  of  probably  not  more  than  sixteen  ;  she  was  rather 
small,  too,  for,  had  not  the  figure  been  very  slenderly  built,  she 
would  not  have  appeared  as  tall  as  she  did.  Her  dress  was 
neat,  but  of  the  homeliest  texture ;  in  fact,  a  casual  observer 
would  have  thought  her  a  very  poor  girl,  and  so  did  I. 

"  Anna,  I  will  go  home  with  you,"  said  the  strange,  little  old 
man. 

But  taking  no  notice  of  his  words,  she  took  her  book,  and 
hastily  walked  down  the  aisle,  followed  by  the  rapid  little  steps 
of  her  companion.  As  they  passed  by  the  door  near  which  I 
stood,  I  had  a  distinct  view  of  the  young  girl's  face  ;  it  was  a 
very  sal  one,  and  wore  the  traces  of  tears  ;  the  features  were 
regular,  but  I  could  not  call  her  pretty,  for  there  was  an  ex- 
pression  of  d  >ep-seated  sorrow  remarkable  in  a  girl  of  her  age; 
my  sympathies  for  her  were  awakened,  and  as  she  passed  me 
by,  the  large  blue  eyes  fell  upon  me  ;  it  seemed  to  me  there 
was  something  imploring  in  that  full  gaze;  hut  a  feeling  of 
delicacy  made  me  turn  away,  and  [  made  my  exit  by  another 
door.  In  the  street  we  three  "met  again,  she  walking  first,  then 
came  the  little  old  man,  several  feet  behind,  with  his  eyes  stead- 
fastly fixed  upon  her,  and  I  followed,  for  my  way  homeward 
happened  to  lie  in  that  direction.  They  never  spoke,  for  he 
never  approached   any  nearer.     On  and  on  they  went,  and   I 


A    SPINSTERS    STORY.  13 

found  that  I  was  not  the  only  one  whose  attention  had  been 
attracted  by  this  singular  pair,  as  others  were  watching  them, 
making  various  comments  as  they  went  along.  One  thought 
she  must  have  been  some  disobedient  child,  who  had  brou 
sorrow  upon  herself  and  her  family,  and  now  would  return  and 
be  forgiven  by  the  unhappy  father  who  was  watching  her  every 
movement.  Another  said,  they  were  certain  he  was  an  old 
scoundrel  who  exercised  an  evil  influence  over  the  poor  girl, 
because  his  wealth  had  an  irresistible  charm  for  her,  and  that 
she  was  now  hesitating  between  two  opinions;  a  third  suggested 
that  she  had  maile  her  escape  from  him,  and  that  he,  having 
discovered  her  whereabouts,  determined  upon  following  her 
wherever  she  went. 

But  she  had  quickened  her  pace,  and  soon  turned  down  a 
rather  narrow,  secluded  looking  street,  and  pausing  in  the  cen- 
tre of  it,  looked  behind  her  for  the  first  time  ;  the  little  old 
man  now  came  faster,  and  his  lips  moved  ;  at  last  he  said  "  Anna, 
■wait ! "  but  before  he  could  reach  her,  she  ascended  a  flight  of 
steps,  and  rung  the  bell.  He  then  went  into  the  middle  of  the 
road,  with  much  difficulty  put  his  spectacles  upon  his  nose,  and 
stood  looking  up  at  the  house,  as  though  taking  a  general  sur- 
vey of  the  whole.  Then  the  door  was  opened  just  enough  for 
a  skeleton  to  enter,  the  young  girl  turned  and  bowed  mechani- 
cally to  him,  then  entered,  and  the  door  was  instantly  closed 
upon  her. 

I  passed  on,  leaving  the  little  old  man  still  gazing  up  at  the 
house,  every  blind  of  which  was  closely  shut,  and  gave  it  the 
appearance  of  being  miserably  gloomy  to  whatever  inmates  it 
might  happen  to  contain. 

Another  week  had  passed,  and  another  Sabbath  brought  me 
again  to  the  same  place  of  worship.  During  the  week  I  had 
thought  often  of  this  singular  pair,  and  the  recollection  of  them 
was  dying  away  ;  but  just  as  the  service  was  concluded,  I  be- 
held them  again;  the  costume  of  the  young  girl  was  precisely 
as  before,  but  her  countenance  was  even  more  wretched  ;  her 
companion's  attire  was  more  costly  this  time,  and  he  still  car- 
ried umbrella,  handkerchief  and  glasses,  and  acted  in  every 
way  exactly  as  before.  He  followed  her,  they  never  spoke,  she 
bowed,  and  he  remained  looking  up  at  the  house  after  she  had 
entered.  For  several  successive  Sundays,  no  matter  how  in- 
clement the  weather,  they  were  sure  to  be  there.  He  always 
looked  the  same,  except  some  change  in  his  dress  which  was 
always  of  rich  material.  But  the  clothing  of  the  poor  girl  was 
always  the  same,  no  matter  what  the  wind   and  weather  might 


14  a  spinster's  story. 

be.  I  noticed  she  was  becoming  thinner,  and  every  time  seemed 
to  have  wept  more  profusely,  until  at  last  she  always  wore 
a  veil,  which  concealed  forever  after  the  sad  face  from  my 
view.  Sometimes  during  the  week,  I  passed  by  that  strange 
house  ;  the  blinds  were  always  as  closely  shut,  except  at  one 
little  window  in  the  attic  which  was  sometimes  thrown  open  ; 
and  often  did  I  long  to  know  whether  it  would  ever  fall  to  my 
lot  to  understand  the  relationship  of  that  unhappy  girl,  and  the 
singular  specimen  of  a  man  whe  followed  her. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  'T  is  a  very  good  world  that  we  live  in, 
To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in  ; 
But  to  borrow  or  beg,  or  get  a  man's  own, 
'Tis  the  very  worst  world,  sir,  that  ever  was  known." 

In  the  Southern  Provinces  of  Prussia,  there  is  a  beautiful 
valley,  where,  sloping  down  to  the  rippling  waters  of  the  Elbe, 
surrounded  by  all  that  is  picturescpie,  stands  the  estate  of  La 
Belle  ;  so  called,  probably,  from  the  peculiar  loveliness  and 
rare  beauty  of  the  situation.  It  has  been  said  to  have  been 
built  about  1049,  by  a  Briton,  who  probably  sought  its  retire- 
ment while  the  fanaticism  of  a  Cromwell  was  usurping  what 
they  considered  was  theirs  by  right  of  noble  lineage.  True  or 
not,  it  is  of  Elizabethan  architecture ;  in  many  parts  the  ivy 
climbs  to  the  turrets,  and  at  night-fall  it  often  presented  a 
gloomy  and  august  appearance,  especially  as  a  moat  formerly 
surrounded  it,  which  must  have  been  added  only  from  a  fancy 
of  the  builder,  as  it  was  erected  in  the  prosperous  reign  of 
Frederick  William  the  Great  Elector.  As  far  back  as  the 
o-enealop-y  of  its  heirs  can  be  traced,  it  has  descended  in  the 
male  line  of  the  Villiers  family,  until  its  occupants  were  Sir 
Charles  Villiers,  an  austere  and  overbearing  man  of  fifty-five, 
an  amiable  and  devoted  wife,  and  four  children;  among  whom, 
played  during  their  childhood,  the  daughter  of  the  chaplain  on 
the  estate.  When  she  was  about  fifteen,  Charles,  the  eldest 
son  and  heir  left  home  for  the  university  at  Edinburgh.  "  He 
will  soon  forget  his  Liddie,'1  replied  the  satisfied  father,  upon 
being  warned  of  his  son's  admiration  for  her.  In  due  time 
Charles  returned  from  the  university  ;  his  father  took  very  lit- 
tle notice  of  him,  and  being  now  of  age,  he  thought  best  to 


A  spinster's  story.  15 

take  his  welfare  into  his  own  hands,  and  one  evening,  while 
Sir  Charles  was  sitting  over  his  wine,  his  son  and  heir  entered 
to  present  the  young  and  blushing  Lydia  as  his  wife. 

To  Sir  Charles,  this  was  unpardonable.  Their  family  had 
always  been  connected  with  the  most  noble  of  Berlin,  and  now 
to  be  thus  humbled  by  such  an  allegiance  of  his  sou  and  heir, 
was  intolerable.  Finding  himself  disinherited,  young  Charles 
engaged  in  a  mercantile  house  having  a  branch  in  Philadel- 
phia, and  immediately  departed  with  his  bride  to  that  city. 

He  was  a  man  of  talent,  of  the  most  persevering  industry, 
and  after  a  few  years  of  toil,  he  stood  among  some  of  the 
wealthiest  of  his  city ;  nor  was  it  his  wealth,  or  his  integrity 
alone  that  distinguished  him,  it  was  that  possession  of  a  soul 
ever  alive  to  the  necessities  of  others,  an  ear  ever  open  to  the 
pleading  of  poverty,  a  hand  ever  ready  to  help  the  weak  and 
the  fallen.  No  wonder  then  that  the  rich  sought  the  friend- 
ship of  a  polished  and  upright  gentleman,  while  the  poor  idol- 
ized him  as  a  benefactor.  And  Mrs.  Villiers  was  a  woman  of 
a  superior  mind,  indefatigable  in  every  duty  of  a  wife  and  a 
mother.  Their  children  were  three ;  Lydia,  who  was  in  her 
eighteenth  year  when  I  became  acquainted  with  her  and  a 
Charles,  a  year  younger ;  also  a  little  fairy-bike  Carlotta  just 
entering  her  thirteenth  year. 

A  family  never  impressed  me  more  favorarably  than  this  ; 
the  manner  in  which  the  children  had  been  brought  up,  their 
unbounded  affection  for  each  other,  their  self-denial  in  behalf 
of  the  poor,  and  their  general  demeanor  convinced  me  that 
their  home  was  one  where  the  true  spirit  of  piety  was  inculcated. 

One  morning  as  I  was  about  to  say  good-bye  to  my  sweet 
Lydia,  she  said  to  me,  with  her  usual  smile,  "  Wait  a  moment, 
please,  I've  something  for  you." 

It  was  autumn,  and  I  expected  a  dish  of  fruit,  a  nosegay,  a 
new  caricature,  or  some  such  thing  as  was  often  presented  to 
me.  But  Lydia  returned  with  a  card,  saying,  "  Miss  Morgan, 
ma  has  recommended  you  as  an  instructress  to  some  young  la- 
dy, here  is  the  direction." 

"  Then  you  are  not  acquainted  with  her?" 

"  No,  but  Mr.  Everett,  that  young  minister  at  our  church, 
who  comes  to  give  lessons  to  Charles,  asked  mother  about  a 
teacher  for  a  young  girl  in  the  family  where  he  lives." 

I  read  the  direction,  14  Claremont  Place,  and  bidding  Lydia 
adieu,  proceeded  thither. 

I  found  it  to  be  no  other  than  the  street  in  which  stood  that 
gloomy -looking  house  of  that  s-^gular  girl  I  had  so  often  seen 


16  A    SPINS  I  i:i:'s    STORY. 

at  cburcb.  T  passed  8,  10,  12,  then  came  this  remarkable 
almde.  "  Surely  this  cannoi  be  the  place,"  said  I  to  myself, 
as  I  ascended  the  steps;  the  number  was  scarcely  legible, yet  it 

w;is  evident  that  a  1  and  a  4  had  onee  embellished  the  heavy 
looking  door 

I  urn-:  confess  that  I  felt  no  small  degree  of  trepidation  as  I 
rang  the  lxdl,  for  although  1113'  curiosity  was  great  in  regard  to 
that  singular  young  girl  and  strange  little  old  man,  yet  there 
had  always  been  something  in  the  appearance  of  that  dwelling 
so  awe  striking  that  I  was  half  determined  to  refuse  to  enter, 
when  the  door  was  opened,  and  as  I  gazed  upon  the  face  and 
figure  before  me,  all  previous  thoughts  vanished.  He  was  a 
youth  in  whose  frank,  handsome  countenance  there  was  more 
than  usual  intelligence.  With  the  air  and  address  of  a  gentle- 
man, he  showed  me  into  a  dark  parlor,  quickly  opened  the 
blinds,  placed  a  chair  for  me  near  the  window,  and  taking  my 
card,  left  the  room. 

''  Can  it  be  possible  that  a  spirit  so  bright,  and  a  being  so 
beautiful  could  live  in  such  an  abode?  "  said  I  to  myself;  but 
here  a  figure  entered,  and  approached  me.  It  was  the  spare, 
meagre  form,  or  rather  the  skeleton  of  au  old  woman  ;  the 
small  grey  eyes  were  sunken  ;  the  nose  long,  and  very  sharp, 
and  the  long  chin  exceedingly  pointed.  Putting  her  head  for- 
ward, exhibiting  the  length  of  a  neck  that  connected  it  with  a 
very  tottering  body,  she  looked  upon  me  with  a  most  searching 
scrutiny,  taking  no  further  notice  of  me  as  I  rose  to  meet  her  ; 
then  having  seated  herself  opposite  me,  the  pointed  chin  low- 
ered,  the  lips  moved,  and  a  shrill  voice  came  forth, — ''Good- 
morning,  I  am  Mrs.  Gilbert,  you  are  come  about  Anna,  I  sup- 
pose  ;  what  are  you  going  to  charge  ?  " 

"But  I  know  nothing  of  the  pupil,  madam,"  I  replied, 
'•  whether  she  is  a  child  or  one  more  advanced." 

"  Oh,  she  is  not  at  all  advanced,  for  she  knows  very  little  ; 
in  fact  she  has  been  a  great  deal  of  trouble  —  I  mean  she  has 
been  a  great  deal  of  trouble  —  I  mean  she  is  not  a  very  good 
girl  —  but  of  course  you  do  not  expect  me  to  tell  everything  to 
a  stranger  like  you.  I'll  send  for  her,  and  you  can  easily  see 
what:  sort  of  a  girl  she  is." 

"  But,  Madam,"  I  interposed,  as  she  tottered  to  the  door, 
"  perhaps  you  had  better  give  me  a  little  further  explanation 
'•ting  your  daughter." 

"  Oh,  she  is  not  a  daughter  —  exactly  —  that  is  —  I  mean 
—  but  no  matter  —  what  are  you  going  to  charge  to  teach  her 
everything?  —  I  want  her  taught  everything  in  the  world." 


a.  spinster's  story.  17 

Here  the  door  opened,  and  a  female  form  stood  before  up. 
A  feeling  of  awe  crept  over  me.  She  was  a  short,  stout,  ili- 
shaped  woman  of  about  forty  or  forty-five,  and  thick -set  and 
irregular  were  the  large  features  upon  that  forbidding  counte- 
nance. But  there  was  one  thing  that  relieved  the  repugnance 
as  you  gazed  upon  her,  and  that  was  the  grotesque  singularity 
of  her  dress.  From  the  red,  turban-like  head-dress,  to  the  yel- 
low slippers,  the  costume  was  fantastically  oriental,  rendering  her 
one  of  the  most  ludicrous  objects  I  ever  beheld  ;  and  I  had 
just  resolved  to  make  no  engagement  with  such  peopJd,  when  the 
old  lady  said  — 

"Well,  daughter,  this  is  Miss  Morgan,  come  t<>  teach  that 
Anna. 

"  What  is  she   going  to  charge,"  came  forth  in  .'.  rough,  coarse 
voice  from  the  forbidding-looking  woman. 
There  was  a  loud  ring  at  the  bell. 

The  old  lady  started,  manifesting  great  nervousness,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  Dear  me  !  I  wonder  who  it  can  be  !  Has  that 
Judy  gone  to  the  door  ?  " 

Here  they  both  left  the  room  to  peep  at  the  visitor  ;  but  I 
was  not  long  alone,  for  again  the  door  opened,  and  an  odd  look- 
ing servant  girl  rushed  in,  threw  down  brooms  and  brushes,  and 
stood  a  few  minutes  viewing  me  with  a  bewildered  stare  ;  then 
taking  up  one  of  the  huge  implements  she  had  brought  with  her, 
she  began  a  most  merciless  infliction  upon  the  threadbare  Brus- 
sels of  long  ago*,  enveloping  me  in  the  thick  clouds  that  arose 
with  every  stroke  of  her  weapon.  Being  of  woman-kind  I 
might  have  thought  of  my  bonnet,  but  I  had  too  great  a  dread 
of  a  blow  in  the  face  from  the  prodigious  handle  that  she  flour- 
ished in  all  directions  ;  so  in  fear  and  trembling,  I  made  my 
way  to  the  door,  and  when  assured  that  I  had  fully  escaped  from 
the  room,  I  called  to  the  girl  and  said,  "  I  should  like  to  see 
Miss  Anna,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  you've  only  to  go  to  the  top  of  those  stairs  there  and 
knock  at  the  door,"  was  the  unceremonious  reply.  I  did  as 
directed,  but  found  the  door  open,  and  as  my  gaze  fell  into  the 
room,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  knock  at  the  door;  so  I  stood, 
while  the  voice  of  one  as  though  in  trouble  fell  upon  my  ear. 

The  apartment  was  in  neat  order,  but  the  furniture  very 
scanty,  and  of  a  dark,  heavy  appearance.  A  small  bedstead,  an 
old-fashioned  wardrobe,  a  bookcase,  and  a  little  upright  piano, 
were  all  it  contained,  except  that,  over  the  fire-place  there  hung 
the  portrait  of  a  lady,  apparently  about  eighteen  or  twenty,  not 
only  every  feature  of  which,  but  the  expression  also  was  ex- 


18  \    SPmSTEB's    STORY. 

fcremely  beautiful.  "  Whoever  she  might  be,"  thought  I,  "  she 
must  have  been  very  lovely  !  " 

But  suddenly  my  eyes  fell  upon  another  object,  it  was  the 
figure  of  a  girl,  kneeling  upon  a  rug  before  this  portrait.     The 

head  was  bowed  upon  the  clasped  hands,  and  the  attitude  struck 
mc  as  being  that  of  prayer.  I  knocked  softly  ;  there  was  no 
response.  1  thought  it  best  to  wait.  Presently  she  raised  her 
head,  the  tears  were  falling  fast  over  the  pale  cheeks.  It  was 
the  same  young  girl  I  had  seen  in  the  church  ;  as  one  riveted 
to  the  spot,  I  stood  and  gazed.  The  face  was  uplifted,  and  in 
an  agonized  voice  came  the  words  — 

"  Oh  where  art  thou?  What  is  it  that  separates  thee  from 
me,  when  I  have  none  other  to  love  me  ?  Can  it  be  that  thou 
art  in  the  world  of  spirits  ?  If  thou  art  there,  then  I  can  never 
come  to  thee,  for  thy  abode  is  with  the  redeemed,  thy  spirit  was 
pure  and  thy  soul  spotless;  but  I  am  left  to  deplore  thee ;  sin- 
ful and  wretched  I  must  only  sink  day  by  day  deeper  into  the 
miseries  of  my  unhappy  lot.  My  mother  !  my  mother  !  where 
art  thou  ?     Dost  thou  still  live  ?  " 

I  hid  myself  behind  the  door,  and  knocked  loudly.  She 
started,  and  left  the  room  by  another  door  ;  but  soon  returning, 
she  answered  me  in  gentle  tones,  and  bade  me  enter,  saying  she 
was  Anna. 

Her  face  was  paler  than  usual,  thee  yes,  I  found,  were  blue 
and  very  full,  her  complexion  exceedingly  fair  and  delicate,  and 
soft,  silky  locks  of  flaxen  hair  were  combed  back  from  the  face, 
exhibiting  a  forehead  of  more  than  ordinary  beauty  and  intelli- 
gence. She  seemed  very  diffident,  yet  her  simple  manner 
pleased  me,  and  there  was  a  child-like  innocence  about  her  that 
made  me  feel  most  favorably  impressed  with  her.  I  told  her 
my  business,  and  left  her.  determined  to  make  any  arrangement 
with  the  strange  people  below,  in  order  to  learn  more  respecting 
this  Anna,  in  whom  I  felt  so  much  interest. 

On  descending  the  stairs,  I  found  the  old  lady,  Mrs.  Gilbert, 

scolding  poor  Judy  the  servant-maid,  for  allowing  me  to  go  up 

stairs.     I  stated  my  terms,  Mrs.  Gilbert  stated  hers  ;  they  were 

f»in  the   ratio  of  5  to  17.     However,  I  agreed  to  hers,  and   left 

the  house. 

Thus  was  it  that  I  began  my  acquaintance  with  Anna  Went- 
worth  My  introductory  remarks  may  cease  here,  and  I  can 
now  commence  the  narrative. 


CHAPTER  in. 

"The  gathering  clouds,  like  meeting  armies,  came  on  apace." 

It  was  evening  ;  and  as  the  shadows  lengthened  in  the  streets 
without,  the  greater  was  the  gloom  in  the  dark,  old-fashioned 
parlor  of  Mrs.  Gilbert.  But  this  good  woman  did  not  feel  it 
for  she  was  sitting,  looking  into  the  fire,  buried  in  far  different 
thoughts.  The  door  opened,  and  a  woman  swept  into  the  room. 
The  flickering  flame  in  the  grate  threw  but  little  light  upon  her, 
still  the  short,  irregular  step  was  too  well  known  to  the  old  la- 
dy, and  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  The  intruder  stood  before  her 
and  in  tones  that  conveyed  much  of  ill  temper,  said,  "  I've 
come  to  say  that  if  you  conclude  to  take  these  children,  don't 
expect  any  assistance  from  me,  that's  all." 

"  Susan,  you  never  assist  me  in  anything,  you  have  been  the 
very  bane  of  my  existence  ever  since  you  were  born,  and  now, 
although  you  are  turned  forty,  you  tease  and  torment  me  as 
bad  as  ever." 

But  before  the  sentence  was  finished  Susan  had  left,  shutting 
the  door  with  a  force  that  shook  the  house  to  its  foundation. 

"  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  get  her  off  my  hands/'  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Gilbert  to  herself,  "  but  any  man  would  be  a  fool 
to  tie  himself  down  to  her ;  however,  men  are  strange  beings,  and 
if  it  be  true  that  every  Jack  finds  a  Jill,  there  may  be  even  now 
some  hope  for  me." 

But  a  carriage  had  stopped  before  the  house,  the  tall,  portly 
figure  of  a  man  ascended  the  steps,  and  entered  the  parlor. 

"  Madam,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Gilbert,  who  stood  bowing  before 
him,  I  received  your  note,  the  children  will  be  here  to-morrow 
morning.  Remember,  I  wish  to  be  liberal  in  regard  to  their 
education.  I  may  be  absent  many  years,  don't  trouble  me 
with  letters  except  in  case  of  death,  and  you  understand  I  have 
agreed  to  pay  double  what  you  asked,  for  I  wish  them  very 
respectably  brought  up.  You  will  receive  the  payments  quar- 
terly in  advance.  Good-night."  And  in  a  few  seconds  he 
was  gone. 

The  morning  brought  the  children  to  Mrs  Gilbert's.  The 
elder  was  a  boy  of  eight  years,  a  handsome,  spirited  child,  who 
seemed  inclined  to  exercise  a  great  deal  of  control  over  his  little 
sifter  Anna  two  years  younger,  a  timid  little  creature,  who 


20  A    SPINS!  bb's  storv. 

scarcely  dared  to  lift  her  mild  blue  eyes  to  the  angry  face  of 
Susan  Gilbert.  As  Boon  as  their  trunks  were  brought  in,  the 
little  Alfred  was  made  to  relinquish  a  bunch  of  keys,  and  Su- 
san set  herself  to  work  to  examine  their  contents;  when,  as  she 
had  emptied  one,  she  left  the  things  strewn  upon  the  floor,  and 
went  to  another,  while  the  little  girl  busied  herself  in  replacing 
thein,  saving  timidly,  "Mamma  put  them  ill  so."  At  last 
Susan,  in  her  haste,  was  pulling  out  a  cord,  when  the  boy  ex- 
claimed, "  Oh,  take  care,  that  is  our  mother  !  "  It  was  a  por- 
trait, and  both  the  children  put  their  little  hands  upon  it,  as 
though  to  guard  it  from  the  rough  usage  of  their  new  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  And  where  is  this  mother  of  yours?  "  inquired  Susan. 

"  We  don't  know,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Well,  I  expect  she  is  not  good  for  much,  pretty  women 
never  are,"  and  having  satisfied  herself  that  she  had  seen  all, 
she  left  her  mother  to  do  the  rest,  and  went  to  her  room,  to 
transfer  collars,  embroider  pocket-handkerchiefs,  make  old  head- 
dresses into  new  ones,  etc.  which  always  occupied  the  greater 
part  of  the  day. 

The  years  passed  away;  all  who  took  notice  of  Alfred,  must 
have  observed  that  his  development,  both  mentally  and  physi- 
cally, was  in  his  favor  ;  for  he  was  an  intelligent  and  handsome 
youth,  and  generally  beloved  —  except  by  Mrs.  Gilbert  and 
Susan,  the  former  bearing  no  very  unkind  feeling  perhaps,  but 
the  latter  being  of  a  firm  opinion  that  boys  were  a  general 
nuisance  to  society  •  and  her  dislike  to  Alfred  was  so  intense, 
that  her  mother  declared,  had  the  boy  not  been  kept  at  school, 
she  must  have  shut  herself  up  in  one  of  the  garrets,  in  order  to 
end  her  life  in  peace. 

For  once  in  their  lives,  upon  one  subject  Mrs.  Gilbert  and 
daughter  agreed,  and  that  was,  that  if  Anna  were  sent  to  school, 
she  would  only  lose  that  submissive  spirit,  which  now  bent  en- 
tirely to  their  will,  and  acquire  many  "fashionable  notions" 
which  other  girls  possessed.  Accordingly,  Miss  Susan  under- 
took Anna's  education,  but  soon  declared  the  child  an  idiot,  and 
returned  to  the  baubles  of  her  dressing  room.  Then  the  little 
girl  remained  a  long  time  learning  nothing  but  the  uses  and 
abuses  of  the  odd  set  of  cups  and  dishes  in  Mrs.  Gilbert's  kitch- 
en ;  at  last  an  instructor  was  engaged,  but  Susan  soon  thought 
they  were  paying  too  much,  so  he  was  dismissed,  and  another 
called.  This  was  so  often  repeated,  that  young  as  Anna  was,  she 
often  felt  mortified  when  the  poor,  half-starved  looking  teachers, 
whom  extreme  poverty  had  driven  to  their  door,  were  scut  away, 


a  spinster's  story.  21 

■with  only  half  the  money  they  had  agreed  to  receive.  Thus 
passed  ten  years,  bringing  such  a  train  of  motley  professors, 
that  Mrs.  Gilbert  became  a  notorious  advertiser,  and  the  name 
of  the  street  was  sufficient. 

But  at  last  I  took  the  place  of  these  ;  and  I  did  not  find 
Anna  ignorant.  I  have  never  found  a  better  historian  in  a  girl 
of  her  age,  for  her  studious  habits  had  acquired  for  her  what 
many  a  young  lady  with  greater  advantages  might  be  proud  to 
possess  ;  and  I  so  soon  learned  to  love  my  pupil,  that  no  caprice 
of  Susan  could  repel  me. 

Not  once  had  those  children  received  so  much  as  a  message 
from  their  father,  and  kept  ignorant  of  his  direction,  they  were 
banished  from  all  means  of  communication. 

"When  Anna  was  about  fifteen,  the  Rev.  Herbert  Everett 
came  to  take  up  his  abode  at  Mrs.  Gilbert's.  He  was  probably 
twenty-seven  or  eight,  tall,  thin,  and  athletic,  whose  face,  Alfred 
said,  always  wore  a  freezing  rigidity,  while,  as  you  looked  upon 
him,  you  seemed  to  behold  one  of  those  stern,  impenetrable  be- 
ings who  live  wholly  within  themselves.  But  in  the  pulpit  he 
appeared  a  different  man.  The  deep,  rich  tones  of  his  fine 
voice,  joined  to  the  earnest  expression  of  his  pale  countenance, 
made  the  words  as  they  fell  upon  the  ear,  even  more  impres- 
sive ;  as  you  saw  him  there,  he  was  none  other  than  an  active 
disciple  of  the  Great  Master,  an  eloquent  preacher,  an  energetic 
man.  But  at  home  he  seldom  spoke,  his  face  was  always  the 
exponent  of  the  severest  austerity ;  yet  when  addressed,  his 
manner  was  soft,  gentlemanly,  and  polished ;  still,  all  who 
knew  him  agreed  that  it  was  impossible  "to  make  him  out," 
except  Susan ;  she  of  course  could  read  the  good  man  perfect- 
ly ;  he  was  one  of  those  exceptions,  so  devoted  to  the  profession 
of  preaching  to  fallen  sinners,  that  hitherto  he  had  not  allowed 
himself  time  to  think  of  the  fairer  sex  ;  not  that  it  was  to  be 
understood  that  he  never  would,  for  probably  he  would  one  day 
take  to  himself  one  of  the  daughters  of  Eve,  and  who  could  tell 
but  she  might  be  that  favored  one.  So  whenever  in  his  pres- 
ence, she  took  care  to  be  attired  to  most  advantage.  And  al- 
though the  good  man  never  seemed  to  raise  his  eyes,  she  never 
suffered  her  hopes  to  languish.  But  Susan  did  not  forget  that 
Anna  was  a  fair,  gentle  young  creature,  and  very  interesting, 
just  such  an  one  as  might  stand  in  her  light ;  so  Anna  was 
sent  to  another  church  on  the  Sabbath,  and  kept  aloof  from  him 
at  all  other  times,  that  there  might  be  no  possibility  of  the 
young  curate  falling  in  love  with  her. 

Many  days  passed  and  Anna  never  tasted  the  fresh  air,  for 


22  a  spinster's  story. 

she  \v;i<  not  allowed  to  go  out  unaccompanied,  except  when  at* 
tending  church,  then  she  was  always  alone,  for  Alfred  of  course, 
went  with  Mrs.  Gilbert  as  formerly,  that  she  might  keep  him  in 
order,  as  be  had  the  very  irreverent  habit  of  Buffering  his  eyes 
to  wander  after  pretty  girls,  instead  of  resting  them  upon  the 
type  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  prayer  book,  which  he  held  between  his 
finger  and  thumb. 

<  >nce  Mr.  Everett  asked  who  these  children  were,  and  wheth- 
er they  bore  any  relationship  to  Mrs.  G.  and  her  daughter  ;  ' 
but  so  strange  and  stammering  was  the  reply  from  the  queer  old 
lady,  and  so  evasive  and  indifferent  from  Susan,  that  he  conclud- 
ed there  was  something  secret  and  mysterious  in  the  matter, 
and  said  no  more  upon  the  subject. 

But  there  was  generally  one  other  human  being  beneath  this 
roof,  whom  I  forgot  to  mention,  and  this  was  a  female  holding 
the  position  of  servant  girl,  who  officiated  as  cook,  laundress, 
chambermaid,  and  dressing-maid  to  Miss  Susan.  But  such  an 
individual  was  always  a  monthly  visitant,  as  none  ever  yet 
would  weather  the  storm  of  Susan's  temper  a  longer  period. 
To  avoid  a  confusion  of  names,  the  appellation  of  "  Judy"  was 
always  bestowed  upon  every  one  of  these  ;  and  it  fell  to  the  lot 
of  poor  Anna  to  teach  these  new-comers ;  no  very  easy  task, 
and  much  as  she  was  engaged,  it  was  a  wonder  to  me  when  she 
found  time  for  books,  for  at  night,  when  she  had  finished  the 
household  work  which  was  given  her  to  perform,  only  one  little 
wick  of  candle  was  allowed  her  as  she  went  to  her  room. 

As  may  be  supposed,  Mrs.  Gilbert  paid  very  low  wages  to 
her  maid-of-all-work,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  every  Judy  was 
some  poor  miserable  creature  whom  no  one  else  would  employ, 
and  only  too  often  one  who  presented  a  most  grotesque  appear- 
ance. And  as  Alfred  was  in  the  habit  of  playing  tricks  upon 
them,  the  fire  was  often  put  out,  a  dish  was  sometimes  broken, 
or  by  his  advice  she  would  lay  out  all  the  money  given  her,  by 
purchasing  many  newspapers  at  once,  to  save  herself  the  trouble 
of  going  for  it  every  morning,  when  Susan  sent  her  for  the 
"  Daily  Times  "  for  Mr.  Everett  which  she  generally  did,  believ- 
ing that  such  little  acts  of  attention  would  attract  his  notice.  But 
these  caprices  of  Alfred  made  him  the  avowed  enemy  of  Susan  ; 
and  Mrs.  Gilbert  scolded  for  the  rest  of  the  week  ;  Anna, 
'knowing  he  would  have  less  rice  for  his  dinner,  and  less  bread 
for  his  tea  on  this  account,  often  mourned  over  it,  as  she  knew 
he  had  not  sufficient  food  for  a  growing  boy,  and  when  her 
morning  lessons  with  me  were  over,  and  she  returned  to  duties 
in  the  kitchen,  many  a  silent  tear  for  him  would  drop  into  Mrs. 
Gilbert's  cups  and  platters. 


a  spinster's  story.  23 

It  was  Lent ;  and  as  there  was  to  be  a  confirmation  at  Easter, 
it  fell  to  Mr.  Everett  to  instruct  a  class  of  young  candidates 
every  week  at  the  parsonage,  as  the  Doctor  was  so  infirm  that 
he  could  attend  to  few  duties  of  his  parish  ;  and  the  young  min- 
ister one  morning  tapped  at  Mrs.  Gilbert's  door,  and  spoke  of 
Anna's  joining  this  class  of  young  ladies.  It  may  be,  he  was 
thinking  only  of  her  soul's  welfare,  or  possibly  he  thought  that 
to  go  out  among  girls  of  her  own  age,  might  be  a  change  for  the 
poor  little  recluse.  However,  Mrs.  Gilbert  agreed  that  it  would 
be  a  very  good  thine:  for  Anna  to  be  a  Christian,  and  Susan 
thought  it  quite  expedient  to  please  the  good  man  in  every- 
thing. So  running  to  Anna's  room,  where  the  timid  girl  had 
flown  to  avoid  her  anger  for  a  few  moments,  and  seating  her 
heavy  self  upon  the  little  bed,  she  began  in  her  usual  abrupt 
way  — 

"  Anna,  I've  come  to  know  whether  you  attend  to  your  de- 
votions morning  and  evening,  as  a  Christian  ought  to  do." 

"  Yes,  Susan  ;  my  mother  taught  us,  and  I  never  neglect 
it ;  but  you  know  you  often,  very  often,  interrupt  me." 

"  Don't  talk  so  to  me,  but  listen.  Mr.  Everett  has  been 
speaking  to  us  about  your  beginning  a  new  life  ;  I  am  sure  he 
must  think  very  ill  of  you  Anna,  and  no  wonder,  for  you  do 
give  me  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

"  What !  Mr.  Everett  been  talking  of  me  ?  But  why  does 
he  think  ill  of  me  ?     What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  impertinent,  but  attend  to  me.  Mr.  Everett  takes 
a  delight  in  bringing  sinners  like  you  out  of  darkness  into 
light.  I've  no  doubt  he  has  heard  me  scold  you,  and  knows 
how  much  anxiety  you  give  me,  for  of  course,  no  respectable 
woman  like  myself  would  want  to  live  under  the  same  roof  with 
a  girl  who  bore  a  bad  character  like  you.  So  begin  at  once 
and  repent,  that  by  the  time  the  Bishop  comes,  you  will  be 
without  sin.  Begin  to-day;  this  very  hour,  and  say  all  the 
prayers  you  know  ;  as  to  that  Alfred,  he's  past  all  reclaim,  was 
long  ago,  and  so  would  you  have  been,  only  you  have  been 
more  in  the  house  with  me,  with  my  influence  over  you.  Now 
mind  what  I  say,  and  if  you  feel  your  sins  are  forgiven  by  three 
o'clock,  go  and  join  the  good,  Christian  girls  at  the  parsonage  ; 
and  she  went  down  stairs,  leaving  Anna  in  a  maze  of  bewilder- 
ment. 

Soon  after,  on  descending  the  stairs,  she  was  met  by  the 
young  minister,  who  told  her  it  was  time  to  go,  and  that  he 
would  wait  for  her,  and  take  her  with  him. 

Susan  did  not  approve  of  this  procedure  in  the  least,  but  now 


24  a  spinster's  story. 

there  was  no  alternative,  and  as  she  saw  them  descend  the  steps 
together,  Bbe  Baid  half  aloud,  "  And  so  it  has  come  to  this  after 

all  I  have  done  to  prevent  it.  I  wonder  whether  he  likes  her  ! 
Hut  Anna,  if  yon  do  gel  that  man  from  me,  you  shall  suffer  for 
it.  You  may  marry  him,  but  I  will  follow,  and  be  a  constant 
torture  to  you  ;  you  shall  not  take  advantage  of  me  like  this, 
while  I  tamely  look  on.  But  I  will  have  my  revenge.  Wait 
a  while  !  " 

Although  Anna  knew  no  one  in  that  little  assembly  except 
Mr.  Everett,  still  it  seemed  as  though  anew  life  had  opened  to 
her,  and  its  happy  influence  rested  upon  her  during  the  rest  of 
the  week  ;  besides,  Bhe  and  Mr.  Everett  sometimes  had  a  pleas- 
ant chat  as  they  walked  home,  although  this  was  but  seldom,  as 
he  generally  appeared  very  sad,  and  spoke  very  litte,  while  only 
his  firm,  regular  steps,  and  an  occasional  sigh  as  it  escaped  him, 
told  her  he  was  by  her  side. 

At  last  L}Tdia,  who  was  always  to  be  found  among  that  little 
group,  observed  that  Anna  was  alone,  and  after  that,  always 
took  her  seat  beside  her,  and  by  many  little  attentions,  sought 
to  rid  her  of  the  embarrassment  that  so  much  distressed  her ; 
and  no  one  could  resist  Lydia's  charms.  Her  happy  face,  her 
cheerful,  winning  manner  had  impressed  the  lonely  girl  with  a 
new  idea  of  life,  which  she  had  hitherto  believed  a  dreary  mo- 
notony, except  to  a  heedless,  mischievous  boy  like  Alfred,  and 
often  in  her  wanderings  about  the  house,  an  angelic  image  stood 
before  her,  and  as  she  gazed  upon  its  loveliness,  she  found  it  to 
be  Lydia. 

But  Easter  was  over,  and  the  gatherings  at  the  parsonage 
were  also  at  an  end  ;  and  when  she  first  realized  that  she  should 
meet  Lydia  no  more,  she  sat  down  and  wept.  The  harsh  voice 
of  Susan  fell  upon  her  ear, —  "  Anna,  what  can  you  be  about? 
Come  directly  and  dress  my  hair." 

And  now  Anna  seldom  saw  or  heard  of  Mr.  Everett.  He 
was  out  a  great  deal  and  when  at  home,  would  take  his  meals 
in  his  own  room. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"Qui  rit  d'autrui,  doit  craindre  pu'eu  revauche  ou  rie  aussi  de  lui." 

Moliebb. 

"Anna,  there's  that  hideous  old  Pyke  in  the  parlor,  wait- 
ing to  see  you." 

"  Alfred,  I  really  do  wish  you  would  call  people  by  their 
proper  names." 

"  Well  then,  that  disagreeable,  that  detestable  old  maid,  or 
if  it  suits  you  better,  Miss  Sarah  Christiana  Pyke  wishes  to  see 
Miss  Anna." 

"  Oh  dear  !  I'm  very  busy,  and  she  always  takes  up  so  much 
of  my  time. 

"  Ah,  but  you  will  be  highly  gratified  in  humoring  her  this 
morning,  for  she  is  going  to  take  you  to  see  a  most  excellent 
drawing ;  I  told  her  you  were  fond  of  the  arts,  and  she  has 
made  Susan  promise  to  let  you  go,  so  get  ready.  Let  me  help 
you,  here's  your  shawl." 

"  Now,  Alfred,  you  look  mischievous,  and  you  are  only  teas- 
ing.    Miss  Pyke  is  not  down  stairs." 

"  Only  listen  ;  was  there  ever  another  voice  like  it?  " 

"  I  never  heard  before  she  had  a  taste  for  the  fine  arts,"  said 
Anna,  as  she  descended  the  stairs.  The  parlor  door  was  open, 
and  she  could  distinguish  Miss  Pyke's  voice  saying  "  I  dare 
say,  ray  dear  Susan,  that  Anna  is  a  great  trouble  to  you,  as  well 
as  Alfred  ;  girls  always  are  ;  their  heads  are  always  running  up- 
on beaux  and  the  like  ;  I  know  it  is  so,  although,  like  you,  Su- 
san, I  never  was  a  flirt." 

Anna  entered.  "  Oh,  my  dear  Anna,  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
rejoiced  I  am  to  see  you.  What  a  dear  girl  she  grows,  Susan, 
I'm  sure  she  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  you.  And  your  hand- 
some brother,  Anna,  what  a  charming  fellow  ;  I  know  he  must 
be  a  delight  to  every  one  in  the  house.  They're  quite  a  bless- 
ing to  you,  Susan."  Here  she  heaved  a  sigh,  and  her  voice  fell 
into  the  minor  key;  then  rising,  she  continued  —  "Ah  me! 
When  I  think  of  all  I  have  endured,  and  must  yet  struggle 
through,  my  heart  misgives  me.     But,  come  Anna." 

They  left  the  house,  and  proceeded  through  many  streets  be- 
fore either  spoke,  when  Anna,  to  break  the  silence,  inquired  if 
the  artist's  was  far. 
2 


26  a  si  an  n  bb's  story. 

•■  Anna,  don'l  tails  to   mc,  ['ve  a  great  deal  to  go  through." 

I    bad   u"".  '    their  destination,  and    ascended    the 

w;Ml,    |  i  onti  ining  many  branches  of 

••  Anna,  T  :iin  to  have  mii  interview  with  Mr.  Hume,  and  he 
may  say  something  to  make  me  faint;  if  so,  administer  some 
oi  this  vial  to  re 

Anna  took  the  vial,  wondering  what  was  going  to  happen, 
v.;,,  n  Mi  a  Pyke  pushed  open  a  door  and  they  entered  a  room 
wli,  i  entleman  in  his  dressing-gown,  reading.     He  rose 

i  i  meet  Miss  Pyke.  She  did  not  speak,  but  sat  down  upon  the 
first  seat,  with  a  sigh.  Anna  looked  round  the  room  (or  some 
indication  of  the  art  Alfred  had  spoken  of;  but  saw  only  an 
old  picture  of  Rip  Van  "Winkle.  Allowing  her  to  sit  awhile, 
to  recover  her  breath,  the  gentleman  went  up  to  Miss  Pyke 
saying,  "  Now  madam,  if  you  please."  The  lips  only  parted 
in  answer;  whereupon  he  took  her  hand,  and  amid  her  many 
entreaties,  led  or  rather  carried  her  from  the  room,  although  she 
continued  to  declare  "  1  cannot  survive  it  sir!  do  not!  do 
not!"  Anna  followed;  but  Mr.  Hume  closed  the  door  after 
them,  and  terrified  beyond  measure,  she  stood  listening  to  the 
cries  of  Miss  Pyke,  until  they  became  subdued  into  a  low  moan. 
For  an  hour  and  more,  Anna  remained  there  —  all  was  silent  ; 
the  windows  looked  into  an  obscure  yard,  and  weary  at  looking 
d(  »vn  into  it  she  was  turning  away,  when  she  was  startled  by 
ieks  and  cries  she  knew  to  be  Miss  Pyke's.  She  imme- 
diately ran  to  the  door;  it  opened  into  a  passage,  at  the  end  of 
which  was  a  small  room,  but  it  was  empty  ;  the  screams  became 
hinder,  and  following  the  sound  .-he  crossed  the  room,  opened 
anotherdoor,  and  found  herself  opposite  a  chair  in  which  Miss 
Pyke  sat  or  rather  was  held,  while  Mr  Hume  and  an  assistant 
wen-  extracting  with  great  difficulty  the  teeth  of  the  upper  jaw. 
This  over,  tiie  lady  sunk  into  a  fit  of  hysterics,  and  Anna  in 
her  fright  forgot  the  restorative  vial ;  but  bad  as  she  was,  Miss 
Pyke  did  not,  nor  did  tin;  smiles  and  tears  of  hysteria,  prevent 

her  taking  a  very  g 1  draught  of  the  port  wine;  after  which 

sue  declared  herself  sufficiently  strong  to  return  home.  Anna, 
annoyed  at  having  lost  her  time,  and  vexed  with  Alfred  for 
trifling  with  her,  bade  her  friend  good-by  as  they  reached  the 
street,  after  wasting  all  the  morning  with  her,  and  left  her  to 
walk  home  at  the  pace  of  a  furlong  an  hour. 

'  was  Saturday  —  a  day  Anna  always  anticipated  much  of 
Alfred's  society.     No  wonder  she  looked  forward  to  it  with  de- 


a  spinster's  story.  27 

light  —  as  she  had  no  other  being  on  earth  to  love. —  or  lhat  she 
listened  attentively  for  (lie  elastic  step  that  brought  before  her 
all  she  could  demand  in  the  wide  world  to  love  her,  or  at  least 
to  pity  her  ;  and  when,  partly  from  un kindness  from  Susan,  and 
partly  from  her  ill  health,  she  sought  some  bosom  whereon  to 
rest  the  aching  head,  and  pour  forth  the  fullness  of  the  emotion 
within,  although  she  felt  Alfred  could  not  understand  the  sym- 
pathy she  needed,  still,  while  lie  chided  her  harshly  for  being 
foolish  and  weak,  there  was  a  degree  of  compassion  none  other 
would  bestow,  which  made  her  cling  still  closer,  and  indifferent 
and  given  to  ridicule  as  he  was,  caused  her  to  look  up  to  him, 
until  it  amounted  almost  to  adoration. 

Anna  had  just  returned,  when  she  was  summoned  to  Susan's 
room.  Fearing  she  had  left  something  undone  there  the  day 
before,  she  went  immediately,  expecting  to  receive  an  outburst 
of  anger,  for  which  she  endeavored  to  prepare  herself. 

To  her  unutterable  astonishment,  Susan  was  sitting  up  in  her 
bed,  assuming  the  most  languishing  expression,  while  the  night- 
cap, of  a  most  singular  device,  all  askew,  added  somewhat  to 
her  ludicrous  appearance. 

A  thousand  things  were  to  be  done  in  the  time  of  one,  and 
each  command  was  followed  by  the  valedictory  "  Don't  forget 
to  let  Mr.  Everett  know  1  am  ill." 

Susan  now  occupied  herself  with  her  epicurean  taste,  and  no 
sooner  had  Anna  one  little  nicety  prepared  and  carried  to  her 
room,  than  she  changed  her  mind,  and  ordered  something  else; 
for  which  Anna  was  not  sorry  at  first,  thinking  the  refused  lit- 
tle luxury  would  be  a  rarity  for  Alfred;  but  Mrs.  Gilbert  in- 
sinuated that  it  might  do  for  a  rainy  day,  and  it  was  carefully 
locked  in  the  larder. 

Having  kept  her  bed  three  days,  Susan  still  declared  she 
was  ill,  and  determined  to  confine  herself  to  her  room.  As  it 
happened,  the  maid  was  just  new,  so  that  the  drudgery  of  wait- 
ing upon  Susan,  together  with  much  of  the  household  work, 
fell  upon  Anna. 

"  Salt  is  very  good  for  boys;  "  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  one  after- 
noon, as  she  continued  to  sprinkle  some  on  the  rice  from  which 
Anna  had  dined  ;  "  and  what  he  doesn't  eat,  will  do  for  Judy." 

During  the  warm  weather,  Alfred  had  been  growing  much 
thinner,  and  it  was  with  anxiety  and  the  deepest  regret,  that 
Anna  saw  him  constantly  turning  away  from  the  food  placed 
before  him.  And  now  she  stood  looking  at  the  rice,  as  the 
clock  struck  four,  and  Alfred  had  not  tasted  food  since  their 
scanty  breakfast  at  eight.     Mrs.  Gilbert  left  the  room,  and  the 


28  a  spinster's  story. 

well  known  footstep  brought  the  looked -for  face  beaming  with 
animation,  as,  throwing  his  arms  round  her,  ho  exclaimed  "  Well 
sister  mine,  I  should  think  you  could  afford  to  look  a  little  more 
cheerful,  new  one  bore  is  safe  in  her  bed." 

11;'  seated  himself  al  the  table  ami  Anna  observed  he  was 
pali-  and  exhausted.  "  We  hail  a  pretty  tough  lr.-son  in  '  Ceesar  ' 
to-day,"  continued  ho,  "  hut  it  is  over  now,  ami  we're  going  to 
have  our  base  hall  this  afternoon  ;  I  shall  not  he  home  to  tea. 
What's  this  7  rice  again  7  ami  did  you  have  to  dine  upon  it,  too  ? 
Why  didn't  you  throw  it  at  her  head?  " 

I'm  so  sorry  I  can  got  you  nothing  else  ;  but  she  has  not 
given  us  any  pocket-money  for  an  age;  I  suppose  you  haven't 
any  ':  " 

•'  No  ;  1  gave  the  last  penny  to  a  beggar  just  now.  and  here 
I  want  it  worse  myself.  No  !  "  pushing  the  plate  from  him, 
"  I'll  not  take  any  thing  she  ehooses  to  set  me,  I'd  rather  starve 
any  day.  Here's  something  eatable  in  this  larder,  and  perhaps 
it's  not  looked  ;  but  no  !  I'd  die  before  I  would  sloop  to  steal  it  as 
a  thief.  And  Anna,  if  you  wore  not  such  a  simpleton,  you  would 
siile  with  me,  and  perhaps  we  could  together  get  our  rights." 

She  watched  him  as  he  rushed  from  the  house';  she  knew 
how  faint  he  must  ho,  and  that  such  treatment  would  eventually 
impair  the  constitution  which  might  be  obliged  to  bear  many 
hardships  in  the  course  of  his  lifetime.  There  was  much  truth 
in  his  last  words,  and  as  they  haunted  her,  they  upbraided  also, 
when  she  thought  of  the  many  times  she  had  entreated  Alfred 
lo  be  silent,  lest  the  threats  of  turning  him  out  of  doors  should 
be  carried  out;  whereas  perhaps,  had  she  shown  a  like  spirit, 
the  necessaries  from  Mrs.  Gilbert  might  have  been  won,  and  the 
rage  of  the  domineering  Susan,  quelled.  She  resolved  now  to 
summon  more  courage,  and  endeavor  to  show  a  spiiit  of  defiance, 
as  a  trial,  to  see  what  the  effect  would  be.  But  the  harsh  word 
and  angry  look  would  not  come,  even  for  a  rehearsal,  and  she 
felt  she  must  give  it  up  as  a  hopeless  case. 

In  spite  of  her  physician's  opinion  that  very  little  ailed  her, 
and  that  she  should  leave  her  bod,  Susan  still  declared  herself 
too  indisposed  to  bear  Alfred's  noise  if  she  arose  ;  and  Anna 
now  began  to  despair  of  ever  again  having  an  hour's  rest,  or 
leisure  for  her  long  neglected  books. 

"  Anna,  come  here.  Have  you  told  Mr.  Everett  how  mis- 
rable  I  have  been  V  " 

"  Yes  —  I  said  you  were  ill." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  I  believe  he  said  '  Indeed  ! '  " 


a  spinster's  story.  29 

"  Nonsense,  yon  liave  forgotten.  I'm  sure  he  said  he  was 
sorry,  for  he  could  not  he  so  indifferent  when  any  one  was  suf- 
fering.     Is  he  in  now  '!  " 

''  I  think  so." 

"  Well,  go  and  knock  at  his  door,  and  say  'Please,  Mr  Ever- 
ett, Susan  says,'  —  no,  say  '  Miss  Susan  feels  very  ill,  sir,  and 
would  like  you  to  read  "to  her.'  " 

Very  reluctantly  did  Anna  approach  the  door  of  Mr.  Everett's 
study,  and  stood  some  minutes  before  concluding  to  give  Su- 
san's message.  A  deep  and  slow  "  come  in,"  answered  her 
tapping. 

The  young  minister  was  writing  at  a  table  covered  with  books 
and  pamphlets,  and  as  he  looked  up  at  Anna,  who  never  before 
had  had  occasion  to  knock,  much  less  to  enter  while  the  stern, 
cold  presence  was  therein,  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
she  delivered  Susan's  words. 

His  pen  full  from  his  hand,  while  he  looked  at  her  in  pro- 
found astonishment,  The  icy  expression  bound  her  to  the  spot, 
when  she  would  fain  have  made  a  retreat ;  and,  as  if  fearing  he 
was  mistaken,  the  good  man  demanded  a  repetition  of  the  mes- 
sage. 

A  scream,  as  though  from  some  one  in  pain,  now  fell  upon 
Anna's  ear,  and  running  into  the  yard,  she  discovered  a  little 
boy  hanging  halfway  over  the  wall,  with  one  font  caught  in  the 
bricks  from  which  he  was  suspended.  Having  rescued  him, 
she  found  him  unable  to  walk,  and  assisted  him  to  his  home, 
next  door.  "  A  thousand  thanks,"  said  the  mother,  as  she  re- 
ceived the  terrified  child,  who,  it  seemed,  had  lost  a  ball  over  the 
wall,  and  had  attempted  to  recover  it.  Upon  being  led  into  the 
parlor  to  rest,  Anna  found  three  young  ladies,  busily  occupied 
in  needlework.  Two  of  them  she  recognized  as  the  Misses 
Danvers,  sisters  of  the  little  boy.  The  eldest  was  a  tall,  fine 
figure,  but  very  dark  and  inanimate  look  in  u\  while  the  second 
was  small  and  exceedingly  pretty.  The  other  young  lady,  An- 
na did  not  remember  having  seen  before  ;  but  a  glance  impressed 
her  that  she  was  very  interesting,  although  she  bore  every  ap- 
pearance of  an  invalid  ;  the  large,  full  eyes  looked  very  expres- 
sive as  she  inquired  after  the  little  Willie,  while  the  others 
seemed  too  much  engrossed  with  their  embroidery  to  think  a 
great  deal  of  him. 

"  H  >w  singular  it  is,"  remarked  the  younger  sister,  ,ftbat  we 
should  have  lived  next  door  to  each  other  so  long,  without  hav- 
ing spoken.  But  you  must  often  come  now,"  added  she,  as 
she  accompanied  Anna  to  the  door,  promising  to  call  and  tell 
her  how  the  child  was. 


30  a  spixster's  story. 

Susan  had  exhausted  all  her  patience  in  waiting  for  Mr.  Ever- 
ett, althouj  had  repeatedly  comforted  herself  with  tho 
wor  Is,  "  he  is  taking  a  great  deal  of  time  and  trouble  to  select 
a  Buitable  book,  the  dear  g 1  man  ;  "  and  to  Anna's  great  re- 
lief, she  found  her  sleeping  very  soundly. 

Mrs  Gilbert  liked  to  be  a  busywofhan  in  church  matters, 
anions  which  there  was  a  society  for  the  poor  of  the  parish.  A 
person  was  wanted  to  visit  the  applicants  for  charity,  to  read  to 
them,  and  become  acquainted  with  their  cases.  On  bearing 
tin1  recompense  was  good,  Mrs.  Gilbert  undertook  the  work, 
and  of  course,  the  whole,  or  greater  part,  fell  upon  Anna.  The 
charge  was  no  disadvantage  however,  as  it  took  her  from  the 
monotony  of  the  house  in  which  she  was  accustomed  to  pass 
many  days  without  breathing  the  fresh  air  ;  and  she  learned 
much  of  the  wants  and  trials  of  the  suffering  poor,  which  rais- 
ed her  mind  above  the  petty  annoyances  of  home,  and  taught 
her  to  have  a  sympathy  with  all  conditions  of  men. 

It  was  one  of  those  trying  days  when  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  cross 
with  Susan,  and  Susan  with  every  one,  that  there  came,  to  the 
relief  of  all,  a  ring  of  the  bell. 

''  There,  go  on  with  that  work,  Anna,"  said  Susan,  "  no  one 
ever  comes  to  sec  you." 

Alter  a  considerable  time  spent  at  her  toilet,  Susan  thought 
berselt  "  fit  to  be  seen,"  and  descending  very  gracefully  to  the 
parlor,  found  the  pretty  little  Miss  Danvers,  who  immediately 
asked  to  see  Anna,  gave  the  name  of  Kate,  and  undaunted  by 
Susan's  rude  staring,  again  seated  herself  upon  a  sofa. 

"  Oh,  how  d'ye  do.JMiss  Wentworth,  I  thought  I  would  call 
and  tell  you  Willie  is  quite  well ;  why  havn't  you  been  to  see 
us?  Jose paine  was  saying  she  could  not  imagine  what  could 
occupy  all  your  time  every  day." 

"  Josephine?  " 

"  Yes,  that  great,  tall,  overgrown  girl,  with  a  very  dark  skin, 
is  my  sister  Josephine.  And  that  young  lady  you  saw  is  Miner- 
va  Simmons,  you  know." 

"  Very  likely,  but  I  soon  forget  na:nes,  when  I've  heard 
them  but  once." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  Minerva  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  her  before." 

"  Oh,  she's  such  a  sweet  girl,  but  so  unfortunate  and  very 
unhappy  ;  but  I  suppose  you've  heard  about  her,  haven't  you  V  " 

"  No  !   nothing  " 

"  Well,  her  father  is  dead,  and  her  mother  is  not  a  very  good 


a  spinster's  story.  31 

woman,  T  believe,  she  very  seldom  sees  her;  she  has  been  with 
us  some  months  now,  we  all  love  her  so  much,  she  is  such  a 
dear  girl." 

"  She  looks  an  invalid  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  never  can  do  as  the  rest  of  us ;  but  if  her  mind 
were  at  ease,  I  think  her  health  would  be  good  enough." 

"  Poor  thing  !  I  am  very  sorry  ;  she  seems  very  amiable." 

"  Oh,  she  is  a  perfect  dear ;  if  I  have  any  troublesome  work 
to  do,  I've  only  to  make  a  fuss  about  it,  and  Minnie  will  in- 
stantly relieve  me.  Then  she  has  a  nice  little  fortune  and  is 
very  charitable  ;  but  she  will  not  enjoy  herself,  that  is  the  worst 
of  her  ;  she  spends  most  of  her  time  in  doing  for  other  people, 
and  there  I  can  never  agree  with  her.  Of  course.  I  think  we 
should  be  as  good  as  we  can,  but  then  I  like  to  go  out  a  great 
deal,  and  besides,  you  know  how  much  time  is  taken  up  in 
paying  visits,  arranging  dresses,  and  so  on  ;  although  ma  is 
very  strict,  and  so  severe  ;  and  yet  I  expect  she  was  as  bad 
when  she  was  a  girl.  You  would  think  Josephine  a  quiet  sort 
of  creature,  wouldn't  you?  Well,  she's  a  much  worse  flirt  than 
I  am.  But  do  tell  me,  what  kind  of  beings  you  have  ia  this 
house  ;  we've  often  wondered  about  you.  Is  that  handsome 
young  fellow  really  your  brother?  What  sort  of  a  body  is  this 
queer  looking  old  lady?  and  then  that  horrid  Susan  of  hers.! 
But  by-the-by,  you  know  that  detestable  Pyke  ;  how  can  you 
tolerate  such  a  set?  Do  you  know  Mr.  Barrow?"  and  for  a 
wonder,  she  waited  for  an  answer. 

"  No.     I  never  heard  of  such  a  person." 

"  Then  I  only  hope  you  never  may ;  but  every  one  knows 
him,  and  if  you  should  see  him  once,  you  never  could  forget  the 
gentleman.  But  I  am  going  to  a  parly  to-night,  and  must  go 
now,  and  see  how  Minnie  is  getting  on  with  my  wreath.  Yes, 
your  brother  is  very  handsome,  you  must  be  quite  proud  of  him, 
but  good  by.  I'm  very  sorry  for  you,  because  you  must  be  so 
lonely  ;  come  and  see  us  very  often ;  "  and  away  flitted  the 
pretty  little  creature  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  steps,  leav- 
ing Anna  to  look  after  her  and  exclaim,  "  What  a  light-hearted 
girl !  " 

"  Anna,  I  hope  that  Kate  will  not  give  you  wrong  notions. 
Is  she  a  simple,  innocent-like  kind  of  girl  ?  "  inquired  the  old 
lady,  as  she  met  her  in  the  hall,  after  Miss  Danvers  had  gone. 

"  I  don't  know  ma'am,  I  think  its  rather  difficult  to  tell  upon 
so  short  an  acquaintance" 

"  Well,  if  she  isn't  *he'd  better  not  come  here,  that's  all. 
Now  make  haste   with  that  sewing,  and  perhaps  I.  may  let  you 


32  a  spinster's  story. 

go  out  for  me.'  Is  that  all  you've  clone  ?  there,  fold  it  up  now, 
and  put  cm  your  things.  One  of  the  members  has  neglected 
her  quarterly  Mibscription  ;  go  and  get  it.  I've  lost  her  card, 
but  this  i.-  ber  address,  and  as  1  forget  her  name,  you  must  ask 

for  the  .sister-ill  law  of  the  late  Doctor  Quinn,  who  die  1  of  the 
dropsy,  resulting  from  the  poorness  of  his  blood,  when  the  Saint 
Vitus  dance  bad  left  him.  Make  haste  back,  1  shall  he  wait- 
ing for  you  at  four  o'clock,  and  it's  past  three,  now." 

Anna  found  the  house  ;  it  was  a  small,  compact  looking 
dwelling,  an  elderly  woman  opened  the  door,  and  she  was  glad 
to  find  she  was  understood  without  giving  Mrs.  Gilbert's  long 
preamble. 

"  You  mean  Mrs.  Barrow,  my  dear,  but  she  never  gets  up  as 
early  as  this  ;  still,  if  you  walk  in,  she  will  be  down  before  long." 

Anna  was  shown  into  an  old-fashioned  apartment,  where 
everything  presented  an  antique  appearance.  Near  her  hung 
the  portrait  of  a  benovolentdooking  lady,  and  Anna,  who  al- 
ways felt  a  degree  of  dread  at  meeting  new  faces,  hoped  this 
represented  the  Mrs.  Barrow.  Hut  after  waiting  a  long  time, 
recounting  how  much  practicing,  drawing  or  reading,  she  could 
have  done  in  the  time,  a  peculiar  personage  entered  the  room. 
She  was  a  very  old  lady,  and  wore  a  long,  black  gown,  that  re-ach- 
ed to  the  throat,  concealing  all  but  the  face,  whose  wrinkled  fea- 
tures and  ghostly  paleness,  struck  with  a  death-like  awe  as  you 
beheld  her.  From  underneath  the  black  robe,  she  extended  a 
withered  hand,  which  Anna  took  shrinkingly,  while  the  sunk- 
en eyes  peered  at  her  through  the  large,  heavy  spectacles  Anna 
was  about  to  withdraw  her  hand,  but  the  long  fingers  clasped  it 
too  tightly,  and  to  Anna's  great  dismay  she  put  the  other  thin, 
little  arm  round  her,  and  seated  herself  by  her  side  on  a  sofa. 
Eager  to  be  free,  Anna  briefly  told  her  business,  to  which  there 
was  no  reply  ;  but  the  little  figure  in  black  still  grasped  her 
tightly,  eyeing  her  attentively,  while  Anna  wondered  at  there 
existing  another  such  strange  being  as  the  three  singular  women 
with  whom  she  had  the  misfortune  to  be  already  acquainted. 
Having  answered  a  few  questions  as  to  who  she  was,  Auna  en- 
deavored to  rise,  fearing,  from  the  old  lady's  strange  manner, 
that  her  mind  was  wandering. 

"  Stop  a  minute   love  ;  how  do  you  like  this  house  ?" 

"  Very  much,  ma'am." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  all  over  it?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  here  before." 

"  Then  how  can  you  like  it  very  much  ?  but  just  come  with 
me  up  stairs,  and  then  I'll  show  you  something." 


a  spinster's  story.  33 

"  Some  other  time.  T  thank  yoa,  ma'am  ;  I  must  go  now." 
"  Have  you  heard   the  sad  news  of  Cesarine  ?  "  still  holding 
her  tightly. 

"  I  know  no  such  person,  ma'am  ;  please  let  me  go  " 
"Should  you  like  to  see  her  V  but  then  you  would  cry  to 
hear  her  sad  fate.      Here  the  black  figure  led,  or  rather   poshed 
her  into  a  room  at  the  end  of  the  passage. 

ft  was  a  small,  square  apartment,  but  barely  furnished  ;  in 
the  centre  was  covered  with  a  pall  what  appeared  to  be  a  coffin  ; 
this  the  old  lady  approached,  and  embracing  it,  exclaimed.  '•  Oh 
Cesarine,  she  was  so  gooJ  !  "  and  began  to  lift  the  black  velvet 
pall.  Anna,  fearing  to  see  the  corpse  of  a  stranger,  entreated 
again  in  terror,  "  Please  let  me  go,  indeed,  I  don't  wish  to  see 
her."  , 

"  My  dear,  it's  only  Cesarine  ;  have  you  never  heard  the 
interesting  story  of  my  son,  an  1  his  lost  Cesarine  ?  " 

"  Please  don't  uncover  it;  oh,  do  please  open  this  door." 
"Hush!  Death  is  here ;  be  very  still;  oh  Ce.sie.  why  did 
you  die  and  leave  us,  oh  come  back  to  us  for  one  single  day, 
darling  ;  we  can  never,  no,  never  have  her  buried,  she  mast 
always  remain  here.  0!)  dearest  pet  ;  my  poor  son  grieves  so 
much  for  you,  and  you  know  nothing  of  it,  !  "  Here  she  burst 
into  a  violent  fit  of  weeping,  and  Anna's  compassion  was  already 
roused,  as  she  beheld  the  tears  fast  falling  from  those  furrowed 
cheeks*  Putting  her  hand  upon  the  bony  shoulder,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  I  am  very  sorry,  ma'am,  you  must  miss  her  very 
uiue'.i ;  has  she  been  dead  long?" 

"  Just  a  week.  Oh,  yes,  I  do  miss  her;  and  she  died  on  her 
twentieth  birthday.  I  grieve  mostly  on  account  of  my  son,  he 
loved  her  so  much  ;  but  now  she  is  gone.  Having  recovered 
the  sobbing  which  seemed  to  convulse  her,  the  poor  old  lady 
continued.  "Do  come  and  see  how  calm  she  looks;  you  would 
have  loved  her  if  you  had  only  known  her,  and  she  would  have 
done  anything  for  you.  Do,  young  lady,  come  and  look  at  my 
lost  Cesarine."  She  now  removed  the  pall,  and  no  sooner  had 
she  lifted  the  coffin  lid,  than  Anna  nearly  shrieked  with  aston- 
'  ishment.  There  lay  in  the  coffin,  upon  its  back,  with  its  fore 
feet  folded  across  its  breast,  the  body  of  a  huge  Newfoundland 
tlog.  At  the  sight  of  it,  the  mourner  renewed  her  weeping, 
while  Anna  endeavored  to  succeed  in  unfastening  the  door. 
After  carefully  covering  the  pet,  the  old  lady  dried  her  eyes 
and  exclaimed,  "  here,  this  way,"  and  opening  a  door  she  took 
Anna  by  the  shoulders,  and  pushing  her  into  a  room,  said, 
"  This  is  the  dining-room,  where  I  have  eaten  many  a  good  din- 
2* 


3-1  a  spinster's  story. 

nerwith  my  son."  She  then  opened  another  door,  where  was  a 
losel  containing  all  manner  of  petrified  animals  and  skel- 
etons. She  now  .-rut.  or  rather  drove  the  terrified  Anna  up 
Btairs  into  a  bed-chamber, saying,  "This  is  my  room,  and  come 
this  way,  now  you  see  my  son's  room,  ['m  sorry  you  cannot 
see  him  ;  yon  would  like  htm  if  you  knew  him  well,  and  he 
would  like  you  ;  however,  I  can  show  you  bis  likeness/'  She 
turned  to  a  drawer,  and  Anna,  once  finding  herself  free,  was 
half  way  down  flie  stairs  before  the  sentence  was  finished.  Just 
as  she  was  opening  the  house-door,  she  recollected  she  had  re- 
ceived no  answer  in  regard  to  her  errand,  which  she  well  knew 
it  would  not  do  to  neglect.  Turning,  she  saw  the  figure  in 
black  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  for  the  first  time  she  seemed 
aware  that  this  was  Mrs.  Barrow.  "  What  are  you  waiting  for 
child?" 

"  I  IukI  forgotten  to  ask  you  again  about  the  subscription." 
"  1  gave  you  a  check  for  a  large  sum." 
'•  Oh  no,  ma'am,  I've  seen  nothing  of  the  kind  !  " 
"  1  know  if  I  should  search  you  I  should  find  it." 
"  Oh  pray  don't  say  so  !  see,  my  pocket  is  empty  !  " 
"  Wait  and  I'll  soon  find  it;  "  and  much  as  Anna  dreaded 
a  second  grasping,  still  she  was   forced  to  submit.     "Look  up 
your  sleeve,  my  dear  ;  "  and  there  was  the  very  check.     "  Oh, 
madam,  you  put  it  there." 

"  Of  course,  child ;  no  one  else  could  ;  "  and  she  closed  the 
door. 

It  was  late,  and  Anna  walked  rapidly  homeward,  and  although 
this  appeared  no  great  event  at  the  time,  she  had  good  reason 
to  remember  it  afterwards. 


CHAPTER  V. 

'  L'esperancc  tient  lieu  des  biens  qu'ello  promet.'' 


La  Craussf.e. 


"  What  do  you  think  of  our  making  a  tour  to  Europe  next 
year,  Lydia?" 

11  Why,  Pa,  I  should  be  delighted  !  but  are  you  really  in 
earnest?  I  know  you  think  of  taking  us  sometime;  have  you 
indeed  serious  thoughts  of  going  so  soon  ?  " 

"  Even  serious  thoughts  of  it,  my  Lydia.  So  you  see  it  is 
not  very  unlikely  you  may  all  have  some  occasion  to  use  the 


A    SFIN. STICKS    STORY.  35 

languages  you  have  acquired,  thanks  to  me  and  your  good 
mother." 

"  But  do  tell  me  how  early  in  the  year?  " 

"  I  think  of  starting  towards  the  end  of  the  spring." 
"  How  long  to  be  away  ?  " 

"  Probably  about  three  years." 

"  And  Prussia  will  not  be  forgotten  on  the  catalogue  ?" 

"  I've  great  expectations  of  our  visit  to  La  Belle.  There 
you  will  see  the  home  of  my  childhood.  You  will  never  be 
weaiied  at  hearing  the  legends  of  that  deaf 'old  chateau.  Every 
river,  every  fountain  and  gurgling  brook,  has  a  charm,  as  there 
is  scarcely  a  pebble  but  afforded  delight  as  I  gambolled  among 
them,  with  the  companions  of  my  boyhood.  And  there,  Lyddie, 
not  far  in  the  distance,  is  the  ivy-grown  vicarage,  your  mother's 
early  home  ;  then,  in  the  grove  lying  between  this  and  the  cha- 
teau, is  the  moss-covered  stone,  on  which  I  sat  when  T  pledged 
myself  true  and  faithful  to  her  for  life.  Ah  !  with  what  joy  I 
led  my  beloved  Lydia  through  that  grove  to  introduce  my  beau- 
tiful wife  at  the  chateau.  I  thought  her  more  lovely  in  the 
wreath  of  orange  blossoms  my  fingers  had  twined,  than  any  arti- 
ficials worn  at  the  court;  and  it  seemed  to  me  the  pride  and 
joy  I  delighted  in,  would  be  shared  by  all  at  home.  But  I 
bore  a  weeping  bride  back  to  the  vicarage,  and  thought  myself 
of  all  men  the  most  miserable,  because  my  rash  importunity  had 
caused  her  so  many  tears  ;  however,  that  is  over.  The  grounds 
of  La  Belle  are  very  beautiful,  I  doubt  if  any  more  exquisito 
can  be  found  in  all  Europe.  And  Lydia,  you  will  see  some- 
thing of  the  court  of  Berlin,  but  remember  you  are  not  to  fall 
in  love  with  any  Prussian  count;  I  cannot  give  up  Lydia  yet;  • 
I  want  my  darling  for  myself  a  little  longer,  after  that  I  will 
not  be  so  selfish." 

"  Oh,  now  we  shall  be  interrupted.  Here  are  two  gentlemen 
to  see  you." 

"  I'm  sure  I  never  have  any  dealings  with  either,  they  must 
come  to  see  you,  Lydia." 

"But  who  are  they?  Oh,  I  see  Mr.  Everett,  but  I  don't 
know  the  other." 

"  And  yet  he  is  the  handsomer  of  the  two  by  far,  and  quite 
a  youth." 

"  Now  we  shall  see  who  the  individual  is." 

A  ring  at  the  bell,  and  the  guests  entered. 

"  Miss  Villiers,  allow  me  to  introduce  a  young  friend,  Mr. 
Alfred  Wentworth.  He  has  been  assisting  me  in  setting  some 
of  the  books  of  the  society  to  rights;  but  there  was  some  mis- 


36  A  simxstku's   BTOBT. 

take,  tliat  a  word  from  Mrs.  Villiera  will  put  right.     Can  I  sco 
her  a  momenl  ?"  continued  the  grave  voice  of  Mr.  Everett. 

Mrs   Villiera  appeared,  and  the  business  wa 

'•  We  an-  going  to  dinner, gentlemen,  will  you  remain  V  "  said 
Mr.  Villicrs. 

"  I  shall  not  refuse,"  was  btful  reply  of  Mr.  Everett, 

"  as  my  companion  has  already  lost  his,  through  accompanying 
mc." 

Mr.  Everett's  exercise  in  the  open  air  that  day,  had  given  his 
whole  countenance  a  glow,  seldom  found  there.  He  was  a 
most  perfect  gentleman  to  the  letter,  and  when  called  forth, 
could  display  much  colloquial  power,  with  a  ready  flow  of  wit, 
for  which,  very  few,  from  looking  at  that  sombre  face,  could 
have  given  him  credit. 

Dinner  over,  they  repaired  to  the  parlors.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Villrers  and  the  minister  found  plenty  to  talk  over,  in  matters 
relative  to  the  church.  And  those  at  the  other  end  of  the  room 
were  not  wanting  in  like  resources,  although  they  did  not  hap- 
pen to  be  of  so  grave  a  subject. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  music  room/'  said  Charles,  "  there  I  can 
laugh  as  I  please,  the  serious  face  of  your  good  friend  over  there, 
fetters  me." 

"  How  is  it  I've  not  known  you  before,  Alfred?  "  continued 
Charles,  "  you've  been  at  that  church;  you  say,  ever  since  we 
have  had  this  Mr.  Everett,  but  then  you  sit  so  far  away  from 
our  pew." 

"  And  we  are  so  much  out  of  town,"  replied  Lydia. 

"  No  matter,  my  dear  fellow,"  concluded  Charles,  "  here  you 
are  at  last.  Do  you  play  at  all,  or  perhaps  you  don't  care  for 
music  ? " 

"  Sometimes  I  practise  a  duet,  to  please  my  sister,  otherwise  I 
do  nothing  in  that  line." 

"  Oh,  you  have  a  sister  ?  inquired  Lottie." 

"  Yes,  Anna.  She  plays  and  sings  quite  well,  and  has  en- 
deavored most  assiduously  to  transfer  a  little  of  it  to  me,  and 
although  I  should  try  the  patience  of  a  saint,  she  has  not  yet,  I 
believe,  given  me  up  as  a  perfectly  hopeless  case." 

"  I  wonder  whether  I  have  seen  her,  the  name  is  not  familiar 
to  me,"  said  Lydia. 

•'  I  expect  very  few  know  she  exist-,"  continued  Alfred,  ''  she 
leads  quite  a  secluded  life,  and  is  one  of  those  who  piss  tin- 
noticed.  Poor  Anna  has  no  companions,  and  as  she  is  much 
more  sensible  than  I  am,  I  fear  such  a  careless,  indifferent  fel- 
low is  very  little  comfort  to  her." 


A    SriNSTETl's    STOET.  37 

"But  wliy  is  slio  so  secluded ?"  interrupted  Lottie,  "  does 
she  prefer  it,  and  is  she  perfectly  happy?" 

Alfred  hesitated  as  if  unprepared  with  an  answer,  then  said, 
"  It  would  bo  difficult  to  tell ;  "  and  seemed  to  become  very 
thoughtful. 

The  brother  and  sisters  made  no  further  inquiries.  Alfred's 
manner  in  speaking  of  his  sister  was  so  half-earnest,  half- 
indiff jrent,  that  it  was  not  easy  to  discover,  whether  he  really 
sympathized  with  her  or  not. 

It  seemed  an  evening  of  infinite  delight  to  Alfred.  The 
humorous  Charles,  the  beautiful  and  affable  Lydia.  and  the 
interesting  and  pretty  Carlotta,  appeared  more  like  the  charac- 
ters in  some  of  the  old  books  Miss  Pyke  lent  Susan,  rather  than 
real  life. 

They  were  engrossed  in  looking  and  talking  over  some  curi- 
osities which  Charles  had  brought,  when  the  three  personages 
from  the  parlor  entered.  Mr.  Everett  opened  the  piano,  and 
Lydia  played  some  selections  from  "  La  Favorite/'  alter  which 
some  poems  were  brought,  and  the  clergyman  requested 
to  read.  Mr.  Everett  read  well,  and  choosing  some  of  the  epic 
poems  from  the  favorite  poets,  the  cadence  of  his  rich,  full  voice 
appeared  to  great  advantage  But  Alfred  admired  most  of  all 
a  Irio  that  was  sung,  and  returned  home  highly  delighted  with/ 
the  visit,  to  enrapture  the  lonely  Anna  with  the  accounts  of  all 
that  had  so  deeply  interested  him  ;  and  again  after  retiring  to 
rest,  Alfred  saw  before  him  the  lovely  Carlotta,  and  vividly 
as  before  shone  the  little  figure,  the  clear  blue  eyes,  the  pure 
brow,  from  which  the  golden  tresses  were  thrown  over  the 
round  little  shoulders,  while  the  sweet  expression  of  the  face 
fascinated  to  intoxication  the  fancy  of  the  dreamer.  But  morn- 
ing light  brought  sound  reality,  and  although  Carlotta  was  not 
forgotten,  the  good  sense  of  the  well  informed  Charles  had  also 
made  a  lasting  impression  ;  and  to  apply  himself  still  more  dili- 
gently to  acquiring  useful  knowledge,  was  now  a  firm  resolu- 
tion of  Alfred. 

"  That  is  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Charles,  as  the  door  closed  upon 
the  guests, 

"  I  like  him,  too,"  rejoined  Carlotta. 

"  You  have  not  asked  me  yet  if  you  might." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  his  sister,"  said  Lydia. 

The  bell  rang  for  prayers.  And  that  night,  as  the  evening 
devotions  were  offered,  there  arose  from  the  sympathizing  bosom 
of  Lydia,  a  petition,  that  the  life  of  the  lonely  Anna  might  not 
always  be  one  of  unbefriended  solitude. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"Why  so  pale  and  wan.  fond  lover? 
Pr'ythee  why  bo  pule? 
Will,  when  Looking  «<11  can't  move  her, 
Looking  ill  prevail  ? 
Pr'ythee  «  b.j  so  pale  ? 

quit,  for  Bhamel  this  will  not  move, 
This  cannot  take  her  : 
If  of  herself  she  will  not  love, 
Nothing  can  make  her." 
"Be  wise  w ith  Bpeed  ; 
A  fool  at  forty  is  a  fool  indeed."  • 

Mrs.  Barrow,  strange  as  she  appeared,  was  perfectly  sane, 
or  rather  she  was  as  she  always  had  been,  notwithstanding  every 
one  who  had  become  acquainted  with  her  of  late  years,  conclud- 
ed the  little  old  lady  was  in  her  dotage.  The  son  of  whom  she 
spoke,  Robert  Barrow  Esq.,  was  welt  known  at  the  Merchants' 
Exchange  as  a  man  of  wealth,  though  nevertheless,  one  of  the 
most  queer  and  quaint  old  bachelors,  ever  discovered  in  the  an- 
nals of  time.  As  to  his  being  the  son  of  Mrs.  Barrow,  there 
could  be  no  possible  doubt,  as  he  partook  of  the  peculiarly  awk- 
ward and  bony  form,  as  well  as  the  droll  manner  that  character- 
ized her.  In  fact,  except  that  his  eyes  were  not  of  the  same 
hue,  one  being  a  considerable  degree  lighter  than  its  Companion, 
the  little  oddity  was  an  exact  image  of  his  mother.  A  singular 
couple  as  they  were,  they  were  very  benevolent ;  no  one  in  need 
ever  passed  their  notice  unrelieved,  although  the  benefit  was 
generally  bestowed  in  the  most  extraordinary  way  ;  and  while 
they  were  often  the  subject  of  ridicule,  their  numerous  instances 
of  charity  seemed  to  demand  respect. 

After  Anna  had  departed,  Mrs.  Barrow  sat  beside  a  cheerful 
fire  (as  was  her  custom  even  in  the  middle  of  summer, )  endeav- 
oring to  come  to  some  conclusion  as  to  what  sort  of  girl  Anna 
really  was;  her  son's  riches,  the  pleasure  of  having  children  to 
inherit  his  property,  and  the  like,  was  the  channel  in  which  her 
thoughts  now  ran.  The  shadows  without  began  to  lengthen ; 
a  domestic  brought  in  the  tea,  and  having  seen  that  nothing  was 
wanting,  Mrs.  Barrow  again  sunk  into  her  easy  chair.  She  was 
too  far  gone  in  the  land  of  nod  to  hear  a  rinp-  at  the  bell. 
Lights  were  brought  in ;  the  little  figure  of  a  very  little  man 
entered. 

"  Good  evening,  mother,"  said  a  low  whining  voice. 

"  My  son,  good  evening,  Robert." 


A  spinster's  STORY.  39 

He  seated  himself  at  the  other  side  of  the  fire-place,  and 
from  the  heavy  breathings,  both  were  soon  asleep.  The  same 
domestic  entered  again,  wheeled  the  two  chairs  and  their  con- 
tents to  the  table,  replaced  the  peruke  that  had  fallen  from  the 
head  of  the  little  gentleman  in  his  slumbers,  and  giving  each 
individual  a  tolerably  good  shake,  ponied  out  their  tea,  and 
placed  it  before  them.  Having  awakened,  the  little  voice  of 
Mr.  Robert,  which  was  now  raised  to  such  a  high  key  that  it  ap- 
proached a  squeak,  gave  forth  "exeunt,"  and  the  domestic 
vanished.  Wheeling  his  chair  to  the -side  of  his  mother,  he 
took  a  spoon,  and  by  degrees  poured  the  contents  of  her  tea- 
cup down  the  throat  of  the  good  old  lady,  after  which  she 
caressed  him  very  fondly,  and  at  last  said,  "  A  very  nice  sort 
of  girl  was  here  to-day." 

'   Who  was  she  ?  " 

"  I  forget  the  name  she  said  ;  oh,  but  she  must  be  the  daugh- 
ter of  Mrs.  Gilbert,  —  yes,  that  is  it,  my  dear,  my  son  Robert." 

"  A  nice  sort  of  girl,  you  say,  mother?  "  » 

"  I  know  you  would  like  her;  she  will  just  suit  you." 

"  Then  she  is  not  at  all  like  Kate  Danvers?" 

"  Quite  a  different  stamp." 

"  Then  you  do  not  think  she  would  laugh  at  me?  " 

"  I  showed  her  the  house  ;  she  said  she  liked  it  very  much." 

"But  perhaps  she  would  only  be  a  great  trouble  to  me,  like 
that  Kate,  for  nothing." 

"  Don't  despair  so  soon  ;  and  never  mind  the  trouble  if  you 
gain  her  in  the  end." 

"  I  wonder  what  kind  of  family  she  belongs  to,  and  whether 
they  would  make  game  of  me  or  not  !  " 

"  My  dear,  my  son  Robert,  you  are  too  particular.  Remem- 
ber you  are  in  your  sixty-third  year,  and  if  you  still  persist  in 
following  your  fastidious  taste,  you  will  die  without  having  any 
children  to  take  your  property,  and  what  would  become  of  it  ?  " 

"  But  if  no  one  will  have  me,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  That  is  your  fault,  my  clear,  my  son  Robert ;  because  you 
don't  go  1  he  right  way  to  work.  1  will  tell  you.  Go  this  eve- 
ning to  Mrs  Gilbert's,  and  say  you  have  come  to  inquire  wheth- 
er the  young  lady  reached  home  in  safety  ;  give  my  love  to  her, 
and  do  not  be  afraid  to  speak  to  her,  but  appear  as  familiar  as 
though  you  had  known  her  all  your  life  ;  tell  her  friends  at 
once  what  your  fortune  is,  for  recollect  you  have  no  time  to  lose, 
in  case  you  might  die.  and  have  nobody  to  leave  anything  to." 

Mr.  Robert  Barrow  ascended  the  stairs  to  his  room,  where 
he  spent  a  considerable  time  making  his  toilet,  and  after  giving 


40  a  bpiwstee'b  btoey. 

several  very  singular  twists  ami  turns  before  bis  mirror,  lie 
took  one  last  glance,  and  exclaiming,  "  No  one  would  think  I 
wore  a  wig,"  descended  to  the  tea-room  below. 

••  My  dear,  my  sou  Robert,  when  you  give  your  name,  lie 
sure  to  say  Mr.  Robert  Barrow,  Esq." 

"Oh  dear!  [  shall  not  be  able  to  go,  here  are  the  spasms 
coming  on,  1  can  feel  them  now. 

'•  My  sun,  have  you  had  the  cramps  to-day,  my  dear?"  — 
Oh  Catharine  !  make  haste,  run  for  the  peppermint  and  ginger- 
tea  ! —  ()!i.  my  dear,  my  poor  son  Robert,  don't  cough,  or 
sneeze,  or  do  anything,  but  go  to  bed,  in  case  you  should  get 
worse." 

The  poor  little  man  was  assisted  to  bed,  and  he  consoled 
bin  self  by  saying,  "  I  will  go  to  her  the  first  evening  I  am  able." 

Tea  was  just  over  at  Mrs.  Gilbert's.  Mr.  Everett  had  re- 
tired to  his  room,  and  Alfred  was  sitting  in  the  dining-room 
with  several  books  before  him,  while  Anna  was  preparing  some 
work  that  she  might  bring  it  down,  and  sit  with  him.  when  Al- 
fred was  summoned  to  answer  a  ring  at  the  door.  On  opening 
it,  there  stood  a  little  meagre  figure,  bearing  a  huge  umbrella, 
who  gave  his  name  as  Mr,  Robert  Barrow,  Esq 

As  their  visitors  were  few,  those  who  came  were  somewhat 
of  a  curiosity,  and  Alfred  eyed  the  individual  with  a  degree  of 
astonishment  as  he  bade  him  enter,  and  be  seated.  The  little 
gentleman  then  began  to  utter  some  words,  out  of  which  Alfred 
could  understand  "  Mrs.  Gilbert,"  and  he  went  immediately  for 
her  ;  and  again  seated  himself  at  his  books,  though  instead  of 
the  figures  of  rhetoric,  that  of  the  strange  being  in  the  parlor 
often  came  before  him,  ami  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair 
be  would  often  enjoy  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  visitor's  expense. 

.Mrs.  Gilbert  made  her  appearance;  and  the  visitor  made  his 
most  reverential  bow.  Her  spectacles  were  put  on,  and  she 
seated  herself  opposite  him. 

"  Mrs  Gilbert  ;  do  I  understand  aright,  ma'am  ?  " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  understand,  sir." 

"  Madam — a  daughter — I  believe  —  at  least  —  I  bear  you 
bad." 

"  Hud  a  daughter  'I  why,  I  have  one  now,  sir.  I've  had  her 
a  long  time." 

"Longer  than  you  wished,  perhaps,  I  had  thought,  and  so 
came  to  make  her  acquaintance  " 

Mrs.  Gilbert  jumped  op  delighted,  and  screamed  at  the  top 
of  her  voice,  "  Susan,  make  haste,  for  here's  a  gentleman  to  see 
you." 


a  spinster's  story.  41 

"  A  gentleman?  Where's  my  pelisse,  and  my  satin  skirt? 
tell  Anna  to  come  and  assist  me  to  dress." 

Susan  entered  ;  neither  of  them  Bpoke  ;  she  seated  herself 
opposite  hei  visitor.  Mr.  Barrow  replaced  his  spectacles.  He 
could  now  see  more  plainly  the  woman  of  forty,  and  in  some 
surprise  sat  looking  steadfastly  at  her,  repeating  half  aloud  his 
mother's  words,  "  a  very  nice  sort  of  girl,"  when  Susan,  growing 
tired  of  this  silent  suitor,  exclaimed,  "  What  do  you  want  me 
for,  sir  ?  whereupon  the  little  gentleman  arose,  and  went  to- 
wards her  ;  either  from  habit,  or  infirmity  he  stooped  very  much, 
and  having  approached  her,  bent  over  her;  anxious  to  know 
what  was  coming  next,  Susan  sat  perfectly  content.  At  this 
moment,  Anna  entered  for  a  bunch  of  keys,  which  Susan  in  her 
haste  had  carried  off  with  her. 

"  Anna,  leave  us  and  close  the  door,"  said  Susan. 

"  Oh  my  dear  Anna  !  "  cried  the  little  gentleman  hopping 
towards  her,  "  I  am  so  delighted  to  see  you.  Yes,  you  are  a 
very  nice  girl,  I  do  like  you  very  much.  Mother  sends  her  love. 
She  hopes  you  will  allow  me  to  take  you  home  some  time  to 
stay  awhile  with  us  ;  yes  you  are  a  very  nice  girl,  and  I  do  like 
you  very  much.  Won't  you  come  this  evening?  do,"  seizing 
both  her  hands.  An  expression  of  bewilderment  passed  over 
Anna's  face,  as  she  looked  first  at  him,  then  at  Susan,  whom 
disappointment  had  made  furiously  angry.  Rising  from  her  chair 
she  stood  before  them  and  screamed,  "  Anna,  what  does  this 
mean  ?  tell  me  this  instant,  make  haste  ;  "  and  excited  in  hex 
passion  she  took  up  stool  and  chair,  one  after  another,  throwing 
them  with  force  before  the  little  gentleman,  who,  in  his  nervous 
fright,  clenched  Anna's  hands  the  tighter,  as  he  hopped  from  one 
side  of  the  room  to  the  other  to  escape  these  pieces  of  furniture. 

"  Bless  my  soul  !  what  can  be  the  matter,  Susan?  "  and  Mrs. 
Gilbert  ran  in  followed  by  Alfred  and  Judy,  and  behind,  ap- 
peared the  astonished  face  of  Mr.  Everett. 

Pale  as  marble,  Anna  stood  powerless,  while  the  bony  hands 
still  retained  their  victim,  as  the  shrill,  little  voice  of  the  very 
little  man  whispered,  "  1  will  protect  you  " 

"  What  do  you  do  here,  sir?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Gilbert. 

"  Ma'am,  I  am  a  little  deaf." 

"  Sir,"  shrieked  she,  "  I  wish  to  know  what  you  have  been 
about,  to  enrage  my  daughter?  you  must  have  made  rapid  ad- 
vances." 

"  Nothing,  ma'am  ;  only  this  is  the  daughter  I  want  to  sec," 
clinging  closer  to  poor  Anna. 

"  And  do  you  really  know  her  ?  oh  yes,  you  have  come  to 


42  a  spixstek's  stoky. 

tako  her  away  to-night.  Oil  Anna  !  "  cried  Susan,  ''how  very 
base  you  are,  and  we  knew  nothing  of  it." 

"  Oh,  bul  indeed,  I  do  not  know  bim,  pray  believe  tnc,  I  nev- 
er saw  him  before  !  "  ber  whole  frame  shook  violently  as  she 
looke  1  imploringly  {'mm  one  to  the  oilier. 

•■  Do  you  know  her  or  not.  man?"  screamed  Susan  to  the 
deaf  little  individual,  who  stood  trembling  from  fear,  or  the  pal- 
sy, no  one  knew  which. 

"  Ma'am?  Oh  yes,  1  know  her  quite  well  enough.  I've  loved 
her  a  long  time,  — two  whole  weeks." 

"  Oh,  wont  some  one  believe  me  ?  Indeed,  I  know  nothing 
of  him!" 

"  Anna,"  replied  Susan,  "  you  will  have  to  leave  this  house 
to-night;  I  will  not  remain  under  the  same  roof  witli  a  girl  so 
disreputable." 

"  Oh,  will  not  some  one  help  me  —  will  no  one  hear  me,  oh 
for  pity's  sake  do,  please   some  one  believe  me  !  " 

"  Anna,  Anna,"  cried  Alfred,  springing  forward,  "  What  is 
it,"  but  Susan's  powerful  arm  held  him  back,  saying,  "you 
shall  not  go  near  her,  she  is  too  vile  for  any  of  us  to  touch." 

'*  What  is  all  this,  Miss  Gilbert?"  said  the  calm  voice  of  Mr. 
Everett.  On  seeing  him,  Susan's  rage  abated,  and  she  sunk 
back  as  he  moved  forward.  The  little  old  gentleman  now  took 
up  umbrella  and  hat,  and  was  endeavoring  to  make  his  way  to 
the  door. 

Anna  fell  on  her  knees  before  Mr.  Everett,  and  seizing  the 
skirts  of  his  coat,  cried,  "  Oh  sir,  won't  you  help  me  ?  " 

"  Will  some  one  please  to  explain,"  said  the  minister,  looking 
at  Susan,  and  then  at  the  strange  being  who  was  attempting  to 
make  bis  retreat,  but  whom  Alfred  prevented  by  placing  him- 
self at  one  door,  and  amid  coaxing  and  threatening,  stood  the 
terrified  Judy  at  the  other. 

"  You  know,  sir,"  began  Susan,  "  that  it  is  very  wrong  of  a 
young  girl  like  Anna,  to  have  a  gentleman  coming  to  see  her 
without  our  knowledge,  and  then  to  deny  it." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Everett,  believe  me.  I  never  saw  bim  before. 
You  never  were  here  before,  were  you,  sir?"  turning  to  the 
little  figure. 

"  Here  before  ?  No,  I  never  came  here  before,  but  you  have 
been  at  my  house.  See,  you  left  your  veil,  and  I  brought  it 
with  me  ;   mother  found  it  in  ni}'  room  after  you  were  gone." 

"Why,  look  at  it!  her  own  veil,  certainly,"  said  Susan, 
"  worse  and  worse.  There  is  the  proof  !  Anna,  you  are  con- 
victed ;  you  shall  not  utter  another  falsehood;  don't  attempt 
another  word." 


a  spinster's  story.  43 

"  Oh,  how  very  dreadful,  after  all  my  care,"  cried  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert patting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"  She  shall  leave  this  house  immediately,"  continued  Susan 
"and  you,  sir,  go  from  here  instantly;  go  now,  both  of  you, • 
and  never  dare  to  enter  within  these  walls  again." 

"  Then  come  Anna,  dear,  you  know  I  promised  to  protect 
you." 

"  Hush,  sir,  don't  utter  your  infamous  language  in  my  pres- 
ence. Anna,  get  your  bonnet,  and  go  with  him.  It's  all  your 
own  doing." 

"  Oh,  hear  me  !  I  am  not  so  guilty  !  "  said  the  fainting  girl, 
"Alfred  where  are  you?  and  won't  you  listen';  Oh  Alfred, 
come  to  me  !  "  and  she  fell  to  the  floor. 

"  Indeed,  Anna  I  am  here.  I  know  you  are  innocent." 
But  Anna  understood  not  a  word.  Mr.  Everett  came  forward, 
and  assisted  Alfred  in  placing  her  on  a  sofa. 

"  Oh  you  have  killed  her  !  She  is  dead  !  "  cried  the  poor 
boy  bending  over  the  cold  marble  face.     "  Anna  speak  to  me  !  " 

One  by  one  they  had  left  the  room  ;  until  Alfred  alone  re- 
mained kneeling  by  the  couch  of  the  unconscious  girl.  She  lay 
motionless,  while  an  expression  of  anguish  rested  on  every  fea- 
ture of  her  pallid  countenance.  At  intervals,  she  would  start 
and  exclaim,"  I  cannot  go  without  Alfred  Don't  send  me 
away,"  then  sigh  and  swoon  again.  Awaking  at  last  to  con- 
sciousness, she  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  buried  her 
face  in  his  bosom,  as  if  to  shut  out  some  view,  saying,  "  Cannot 
you  send  him  away  '(  " 

"Look  up,  love,  see,  no  one  is  in  the  room  but  Alfred."  He 
again  bathed  the  temples  ;  she  revived,  but  seemed  so  com- 
pletely bewildered  that  he  would  not  allow  her  to  talk.  Hav- 
ing persuaded  her  to  go  to  her  room,  he  placed  her  in  a  chair 
and  said,  "  Anna  dear,  you  had  better  go  to  bed  now  ;  try  not 
to  think  at  all ;  leave  everything  till  you  are  well.  Let  me  read 
to  you  a  little,  before  it  gets  later." 

He  took  from  the  table  her  JUble,  filled  with  marks  and  pa- 
pers of  reference  ;  and  turning  to  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  read 
the  fourteenth  chapter.  The  beautiful  passage  concluded,  Anna 
arose  and  the  brother  and  sister  knelt,  and  oiiered  together  their 
evening  devotions. 

Then  Alfred  waited  until  she  had  fallen  into  a  slumber,  and 
left  the  room. 

During  this  time,  a  consultation  was  held  below  in  the  dining- 
room,  as  to  what  had  better  be  done  with  a  girl  so  rebellious  and 
deceitful.     Mr.  Everett  had  followed  them,  and  now  sat  the 


44  a  spinster's  story. 

picture  of  astonishment.  Opposite  him  sat  Susan  ;  his  sober 
f'ac  ■  seemed  to  have  silenced  her,  for  she  remained  in  moody 
sullcnness,  while  Mrs.  Gilbert  reclined  in  her  chair,  heaving  a 
succession  of  Bighs.  She  was  the  first  to  speak,  "  What  a  very 
strange  world  it  is  that  we  live  in  !  "  looking  at  Mr.  Everett. 

"  And  there  are  some  very  strange  creatures  in  it,  seemingly," 
rejoined  Susan. 

"  Of  course,  child,  that  is  what  I  mean.  Well,  I  thought 
boys  the  greatest  misery,  but  I  find  girls  arc  far  more  trouble." 

"That  brings  Sally  Pyke's words  true." 

"  Ah,  we  had  better  get  her  advice  as  to  what  is  best  to  be 
done  with  this  Anna." 

"  Mr.  Everett  arose  and  went  to  his  room. 

"  You  know  very  well  it's  no  use  to  get  any  one's  advice. 
See  what  a  spirit  that  Alfred  has  ;  if  we  did  anything  with  An- 
na, he  would  he  like  a  wild  tiger:  there's  no  knowing  what  ho 
would  do, —  and  as  we've  been  used  to  their  money  so  long,  we 
never  could  do  without  it." 

''  Oh,  by  the  l>y,  Susan,  he  has  not  sent  it,  as  usual,  in  advance. 
I  hope  nothing  is  the  matter." 

Susan  paid  little  attention,  for  a  thought  had  occurred  to  her, 
and  starting  up,  she  hurried  from  the  room. 

There  was  a  little  tap  at  Mr.  Everett's  door.  The  good  man 
appealed  in  his  dressing  gown. 

"  Mr.  Everett,  sir,"  began  Susan,  "I  thought  it  would  be  a 
comfort  to  you  to  know  our  conclusion.  I  have  been  telling 
mother  it  would  he  very  unchristian-like  to  turn  Anna  into  the 
street,  and  that  it  would  be  better  to  forgive  her,  and  try  her 
again."  Susan  looked  for  approbation,  but  to  her  surprise,  the 
good  man  suffered  only  an  *'  Oh  !  "  to  escape  him,  and  closed 
bis  door. 

Anna  awoke  next  morning  with  the  returning  day-light. 
She  endeavored  to  recall  the  preceding  evening,  but  her  head 
throbbed,  and  memory  lent  little  aid  to  solve  the  mysterious 
problem.  With  difficulty  she  arose  and  dressed.  "  Lo,  I  am 
with  you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the  world."  The  words 
fell  as  a  balm  upon  the  troubled  spirit,  and  when  the  devotions 
of  the  morning  were  concluded,  she  was  able  to  think  more 
calmly.  And  now  she  recollected  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Barrow, 
and  the  strange  little  woman  came  vividly  before  her.  as  she 
felt  certain  that  the  singular  being  of  the  evening  must  spring 
from  the  same  source  ;  still,  Mr.  Everett's  astonished  and  re- 
proving look  haunted  her,  and  when  Alfred  knocked,  she  was 
sitting  disconsolately,  while    her  tears  fell   fast.     Leaning   her 


a  spinster's  story.  45 

head  upon  his  shoulder,  she  told  more  minutely  the  remarks  of 
Mrs.  Barrow  concerning  a  son  of  hers. 

"  Anna,  there  can  be  no  mistake  as  1o  the  scarecrow,  it  is 
plain  enough.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Everett  will  believe,  and  you 
know  I  do,  and  as  to  the  rest,  who  cares  for  them '( " 

The  cracked  bell  from  below  told  the  hour  for  breakfast  had 
arrived.  On  passing  down  stairs,  Anna  was  met  by  Mr.  Everett. 
The  cold,  stern  glance,  seemed  to  penetrate  her  very  soul. 

"  Do  you  feel  better,  Miss  "Wcntworth?"  said  he. 

If  there  was  not  sympathy,  certainly  there  was  pity  in  the 
tone,  and  to  have  yielded  to  the  impluse  of  the  moment,  Anna 
would  have  fallen  at  his  feet,  and  cried,  "  Believe  me,  I  am  not 
guilty  of  what  they  accuse  me."  But  there  seemed  repulsion  in 
his  very  figure,  and  with  a  faint  reply  of  thanks  that  was  scarce- 
ly audible,  she  passed  on. 

Breakfast  over,  Alfred  begged  to  speak  with  Mr.  Everett, 
when  he  clearly  told  what  he  had  to  say.  The  enthusiastic  boy 
was  poorly  satisfied  with  the  unmoved  listener  before  him,  and 
passionately  rushed  from  the  house,  1o  school,  saying  to  himself, 
"  You  are  nothing  but  an  old  hypocrite,  or  you  would  sympa- 
thize a  little  with  a  poor  girl." 

On  the  following  Sunday,  as  Anna  was  leaving  the  house  for 
church,  she  encountered  the  same  mysterious  little  man.  He 
followed  closely  behind,  took  a  seat  in  front  of  her,  and  turning 
round,  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  during  the  whole  of  the 
service. 

Fearing  to  excite  suspicion,  and  cause  fresh  trouble,  she  said 
nothing  of  it  to  any  one,  especially  as  Susan  had  said,  "  It's  no 
use  to  talk,  no  one  will  believe  you  are  innocent,  but  that 
brother  of  yours,  only  take  good  care  never  to  let  us  hear  any- 
thing more  of  this  man,  or  you'll  find  yourself  in  the  street." 

Week  after  week,  he  followed  her  as  usual,  and  this  was 
about  the  time  I  first  saw  Anna. 

Summer  had  glided  into  autumn,  and  nothing  had  been  heard 
of  Mr.  "Wentworth.  As  she  had  not  heard  from  him,  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert concluded  he  was  about  to  return  home,  and  fearing  his 
anger  at  their  neglect  of  Anna's  education,  was  anxious  to  ap- 
pear steadfast  in  her  duty,  and  after  much  argument  on  her  part, 
and  discussion  on  Susan's;  it  was  agreed  that  an  instructor  should 
be  engaged,  who  would  teach  "  everything  "  on  very  "  reason- 
able "  terms ;  and  accordingly,  as  it  happened,  Ellen  Morgan 
suited. 

Illness  prevented  Mrs.  Villiers  being  as  indefatigable  in  the 
society  for  the  poor  as  was  her  custom,  and  more  devolved  up- 


4G  A  spixstk's  STOR]  t. 

on  Anna  ;  but  she  had  learned  ninny  a  useful  lesson  from  her 
frequcnl  visits  among  the  poor,  and  now  took  pleasure  in  any 
occasion  that  tailed  her  among  them. 

A-  the  seasons  changed,  Al (rod's  wardrobe  needed  much  of 
her  attention,  and  she  was  busily  occupied  in  this  our  morning 
when,  below  stairs,  there  seemed  to  be  a  great  excitement ;  hut 
glad  to  lie  quiet,  she  shut  her  dour,  and  took  her  seat  at  the  win- 
dow. A  carnage  drove  up  to  their  house  ;  however,  Anna  was 
too  much  engrossed  in  her  work  to  notice  it.  Not  so  Susan, 
who  was  standing  at  her  window,  considering  whether  she  would 
go  shopping  with  Miss  Pyke,  or  not. 

"  A  carriage  and  livery,  I  do  declare  !  "  exclaimed  she,  run- 
ning down  stairs,  "  who  can  it  he  !  " 

"  Bless  me  !  I'm  sure  I  cannot  tell/'  said  the  old  lady, 
dropping  a  dish  of  eggs. 

"  Oh,  it  must  he  some  one  to  see  me,  of  course  ;  no  one  in  a 
carriage  like  that,  would  come  to  sec  an  old  woman  like  you." 

A  lady  alighted  and  ascended  the  steps. 

"  Oh  Susan,  it  is  their  mother,  I  do  helieve.  What  shall  we 
do  ?  Women  are  not  so  blind  as  men  ;  she  will  demand  a 
thorough  explanation  of  everything.  Where's  that  Judy?  As 
I'm  alive,  if  she  asks  for  the  children,  I  shall  sink  through  the 
floor  " 

The  affrighted  Judy,  not  understanding  the  cause  of  the  alarm, 
opened  the  door,  and  hid  herself  behind  it.  putting  out  sufficient 
of  her  disordered  hair  to  convince  any  one  that  she  was  there. 

"  Is  Miss  Anna  Wentworth  at  home,  please?" 

Upon  hearing  these  words,  Mrs.  Gilbert  flew  to  the  kitch- 
en and  fastened  herself  in.  Susan  now  ran  upstairs  to  change 
her  head-dress  ;  and  Judy,  without  answering  a  word,  closed  the 
door  showed  her  into  the  parlor,  and  continued  to  stare  at  her, 
with  her  wide  open  mouth,  as  though  she  had  admitted  some 
most  desperate  character.  She  then  ran  to  Anna's  room, 
and  gasping  for  breath,  exclaimed,  "  make  haste  and  come  down, 
Miss,  the  old  lady  and  Miss  Susan  are  like  to  get  into  a  hobble 
of  some  kind. 

Anna  hastily  threw  down  her  work,  and  followed  her.  On 
entering  the  room,  the  lady  rose  to  meet  her,  and  extending  her 
hand,  drew  her  towards  the  sofa.  Judy  stood  behind  the  door, 
filling  her  mouth  with  her  apron,  when  the  shrill  voice  of  Mrs. 
Gilbert  exclaimed  in  a  loud  whisper,  "  Is  it  iheir  mother,  Judy  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  it  is  she  herself,"  said  the  girl  thinking  she 
inquired  for  Anna. 

"  Mrs.  Ailliers  ;  you  may  have  heard  of  me,"  said  the  stran- 


A    SPTXSTER  S    STORY.  47 

ger  introducing  herself.  I  feel  so  very  much  indebted  to  you, 
Miss  Wentworth,  for  your  untiring  energy  in  our  affairs  among 
the  poor,  that  \  know  not  how  to  thank  you  ;  I  am  sorry  we  have 
not  been  acquainted  before,  but  I  did  not  know  until  this  morning. 
to  whom  I  was  so  indebted  ;  however,  I  trust  we  shall  be  friends 
in  future.  Very  probably  you  have  never  realized  the  extent 
of  the  benefits  you  have  conferred  upon  many  around  you.  Be- 
cause you  have  not  only  cheered  the  chamber  of  poverty  and 
sickness,  but  awakened  a  spirit  of  philanthropy  in  many  of 
your  own  age.  But  perhaps  I  am  detaining  you,"  continued 
she,  rising  to  go,  "  at  all  events,  promise  me  you  will  call  on  me 
when  this  month's  report  is  finished  ;  I  have  a  daughter  about 
your  age,  T  think,  and  I  can  vouch  for  her  being  glad  to  see 
you.     Good  morning,  dear." 

And  so  it  was  really  true  that  the  lonely  girl  had  occupied 
some  one's  thoughts  ;  she,  whose  obscure  life  had  seemed  hid- 
den from  all  observation,  had  diffused  a  silent  influence,  to  stim- 
ulate to  action  some,  perhaps,  far  more  capable  than  herself,  to 
labor  in  a  field  of  usefulness,  where  their  wealth,  or  their  ex- 
perience, would  capacitate  them  for  services  she  remained  un- 
able to  attempt. 

The  reports  of  the  society  were  completed.  Mrs.  Villiers  re- 
ceived Anna  with  her  usual  pleasantry,  that  instantly  banished 
all  feeling  of  restraint.  Lydia  entered  ;  and  having  introduced 
them,  Mis  Villiers  left  the  young  ladies  to  themselves. 

After  talking  some  time  on  various  matters  of  interest,  Lydia 
said,  "  You  have  Mr.  Everett  in  your  house." 

"  Yes,  although  I  seldom  see  him,  he  is  very  reserved." 

"  indeed  !  I  did  not  know  that,  I  thought  him  a  very  social 
beins; ;  you  like  him  don't  you?" 

"  Oh,  I  expect  all  his  friends  think  very  highly  of  him." 

"  I  like  him,  too,"  said  Lydia,  and  her  eyes  dropped. 

A  clock  struck  the  hour,  and  Anna  rose  to  leave. 

"  We  are  going  to  make  a  tour  through  Europe,  but  I  believe 
my  brother  told  Alfred  of  it.  However,  you  are  coming  to- 
geiber  to  spend  an  evening  with  us  this  day  week,  then  we  can 
talk  about  that." 

"  Good-by." 

The  cloud  of  monotony  that  had  hung  round  the  spirit  of  An- 
na, now  began  to  clear  away.  She  soon  felt  herself  irresistibly 
attracted  to  the  lovely  Lydia.  There  was  so  much  to  admire 
and  to  love  ;  her  unostentatious  manner,  and  happy  tempera- 
ment, her  deference  for  the  judgment  of  others  drew  any  affec- 
tionate heart  invincibly  towards  her.     It  was  now  winter,  and 


43  a  spixsteh's  STORY. 

quickly  was  it  passing  away,  for  Anna  counted  the  few  months 
that  Lydia  remained  to  her.  She  had  hoped  the  influence  of 
Charles  would  be  beneficial  to  Alfred,  hut  he  seemed  as  indif- 
ferent as  ever  to  all  that  was  serious;  for  worldly  greatness, 
he  w&s  ambitious,  but  for  any  argument  that  bore  a  religious 
tendency,  he  had  no  respect,  and  often,  after  a  long  discussion, 
in  which  Anna  became  wearied  and  discouraged,  he  would 
exclaim,  "  And  what  is  the  good  of  it  all." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Oh  God  sublime ! 
Thy  power  and  wisdom,  love  and  grace, 
Are  greater  than  the  ronnd  of  time, 
And  wider  than  the  bounds  of  space, 
Yet  thon  canst  turn  thy  friendly  eye 
From  tha'  immeasurable  throne; 
Thou,  smiling  on  humanity, 
Dost  claim  earth's  children  for  thine  own  ; 
And  ge   tly,  kindly  lead  them  through 
Life's  \       ";-  scenes  ofjoy  and  doom. 
Till  evening's  pale  and  pearly  dew 
Tips  the  &reen  sod  that  decks  their  tomb." 

"  Oil  Anna,  I'm  afraid  we  have  a  disappointment  for  you!  " 
said  Lydia,  one  evening,  as  the  brother  and  sister  entered. 

'•  Why  ?  I've  not  heen  expecting  anything." 

"  Yes,  you  expected  to  be  without  a  bore  who  is  determined 
to  inflict  himself  upon  you,"  answered  Charles,  assuming  a  serio- 
comic expression. 

"Then  it  must  be  you,"  rejoined  Anna,  smiling  archly,  "I 
can  think  of  no  other  bore,  for  Alfred  is  obliged  to  behave  well 
when  once  he  is  within  these  walls." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  j'oung  lady,  you  will  have  to  think  of  a  worse 
than  I  or  Alfred,"  continued  Charles. 

"  Bui  I  cannot." 

"  Then  allow  me  to  assist  you.  His  majesty,  the  honorable 
Robert  Barrow,  is  to  spend  the  evening  with  us." 

Anna  turned  slightly  pale  at  the  sound  of  the  name,  and  said, 
with  an  effort  to  be  indifferent,  "  Well,  I  suppose  what  we  can- 
not cure  we  must  endure." 

.  ''I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Charles  soberly,  while  Lydia  put  her 
hand  on  Anna's  arm,  "  But  he  will  take  no  hints,  and  we  can- 
not exclude  him  altogether  from  our  company.  He  pretends  to 
come  only  to  see  father,  and  yet,  when  once  in  the  house,  he 
thinks  himself  at  liberty  to  come  upon  any  of  us,  and  demand 


a  spinster's  story.  49 

attention.     So  we  must  content  ourselves  with  the  idea  of  yield- 
ing our  time  this  evening  to  Mr.  Barrow." 

"  No  matter,"  said  Alfred,  "  There  will  he  other  evenings  ; 
it  is  not  as  though  you  were  going  to  start  for  Bremen  to- 
morrow;  but,"  drawing  Charles  aside,  "  do  tell  me  what  this 
door  is  for,  it  is  something  my  curiosity  has  often  longed  to  pen- 
etrate." 

"  See  !  it  fastens  with  a  spring,"  opening  upon  a  cosy  little 
room.  "  Why  it  came  there,  in  an  age  and  country  like  this, 
no  mortal  could  tell,  unless  it  was  built  by  some  very  eccen- 
tric person." 

As  they  had  left  the  room,  Anna  turned  to  Lydia,  and  still 
seeming  rather  agitated,  said,  "  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  that 
man's  name  always  appears  enough  to  disturb  and  trouble  me, 
and  although  I  assure  myself  he  can  never  have  any  possible 
dealing  with  me,  still  there  ever  seems  a  lingering  apprehension 
of  some  coming  evil  in  which  he  takes  the  lead." 

Lydia  was  about  to  reply,  but  here  some  guests  entered,  fol- 
lowed by  Charles  and  Alfred. 

They  were  sitting  in  a  circle,  and  Charles  was  giving  an  ac- 
count of  their  plan  for  their  tour,  when  the  bell  rang. 

"  Miss  Kate,"  said  Lydia  in  a  low  tone  to  Charles,  who  sat 
near  her.  On  hearing  the  name,  he  pretended  to  be  very 
earnest  in  the  programme  before  him ;  but  Alfred  rose  and  left 
the  room,  but  he  soon  returned  alone  and  took  his  seat. 

It  was  past  ten  ;  nearby  all  the  guests  had  departed,  and  Al- 
fred and  Anna  were  standing  in  the  hall,  congratulating  them 
on  their  escape  from  the  dreaded  visitor,  when  Charles  exclaim- 
ed, "  Hark  !  what  is  that  noise  ?  "  They  listened ;  all  was 
still ;  not  a  sound  in  the  house  disturbed  the  dead  silence  save 
a  low  moan,  that  ever  and  anon  broke  from  some  quarter  near 
them.  In  vain  they  searched  hall,  parlors,  and  ante-rooms,  and 
returned  again  to  the  spot  where  they  first  heard  it. 

"  It  is  certainly  below  stairs,"  said  Charles,  "  let  us  go  and 
see."  He  led  the  way,  but  the  sound  grew  fainter  as  they  re- 
ceded from  the  hall." 

"  You  have  forgotten  the  little  room  at  the  left,"  said  Lydia, 
"  where  the  door  locks  with  a  spring." 

"  Oh,  no  one  could  get  in  there,  the  key  is  never  in  the  lock. 
See,  it  is  not  now  ;  I  had  it  last  myself.  I  forgot  what  I  did 
with  it ;  no  one  could  get  in  without  the  key. 

"  Listen,"  said  Lottie,  "  the  moaning  certainly  comes  from 
here." 

"  I  had  better  call  pa,"  said  Charles. 
8 


50  A    SPINSTEIiS    STORT. 

"Oh.  wait  a  minute,"  exclaimed  Alfred,  "  if  the  young  la- 
dies will  promise  not  to  scream,  I  will  disclose  this  apparition." 

11  •  qow  produced  a  key,  and  unlocked  the  little  door  on  the 
left. 

"  Veni,  villi,  viri  !  "  cried  he,  as  he  threw  open  the  door, 
and  behold!  there,  in  a  corner,  partly  lying  on  the  floor,  with 
his  head  against  the  wall,  slept  soundly  none  other  than  Mr. 
Robert  Barrow,  his  hard  breathing  always  terminating  in  a  low 
groan. 

it  was  one  thing  to  awaken  the  little  gentleman,  and  another 
to  restore  him  to  the  full  consciousness  of  where  he  really  was. 

"  Allow  me  to  assist  you  home,  sir,"  said  Alfred,  placing  with 
difficulty  the  bent  and  broken  hat  which  the)*  had  found  under 
him,  upon  the  head  of  the  individual.  In  the  dark,  he  had  lost 
his  spectacles,  and  could  not  therefore  discern  those  round  him. 
Appearing  still  very  much  bewildered,  he  suffered  Alfred  to 
assist  him  home,  and  as  the  youth  persisted  in  asking  him  how 
he  got  there,  he  answered,  "  Oh,  T  am  confident  it  was  one  of 
the  servants,  who,  perhaps  is  a  new  domestic,  and  asked  me  to 
leave  my  hat  in  the  wrong  room  " 

Alfred  waited  until  they  were  in  a  dark  street,  and  his  com- 
panion began  to  stumble,  when  he  said,  "  Tit  for  tat,  sir,  1  am 
the  sinner  who  shut  you  up,"  and  explaining  more  fully  who  ho 
was,  he  left  him  to  traverse  his  dark  and  gloomy  way  alone. 

Three  long  months  had  passed,  and  nothing  had  been  heard 
of  Mr.  Wentworth.  Anxiously  had  they  awaited  some  tidings, 
but  none  came.  Day  after  day  long  consultations  had  been  held 
in  the  dining-room  below,  to  decide  what  should  be  done,  if 
they  continued  to  receive  nothing  from  him.  Susan  declared 
that  life  was  uncertain,  that  it  was  very  probable  they  would 
hear  no  more  of  that  vagabond  of  a  father.  That  they  hail  bet- 
ter decide  at  once  what  to  do,  and  immediately  begin  operations; 
and  Mrs.  Gilbert  echoed  the  opinion,  that  life  was  really  very 
uncertain;  whereupon  one  afternoon,  after  the  last  consultation, 
Susan  exclaimed,  "  My  mind's  made  up,  I  shall  go  and  tell 
Anna." 

In  her  room,  and  alone,  sat  the  solitary  girl.  Alfred  had  just 
been  to  tell  her  he  was  a  candidate  for  two  of  the  first  prizes  for 
drawing  and  Latin,  in  which  he  had  long  excelled  ;  and  after  he 
had  gone  she  had  pondered  upon  his  talents,  and  pictured  to  her 
fancy  what  a  great  man  he  might  be.  From  Susan's  counte- 
nance something  dreadful  was  coming.  She  had  heard  her  loud 
tones  as  she  left  the  dining-room,  but  had  hoped  the  storm  ex- 
tended ouly  to  Judy,  and  now  she  sat  trembling  with  fear,  as 


a  spinster's  story.  51 

Susan  drew  nearer,  and  seating  herself  on  the  side  of  her  little 
bed  begun  ;  "  Anna,  be  up  to  morrow  morning  very  early,  fol- 
low Judy  everywhere  she  goes,  and  learn  how  to  do  everything 
for  we're  going  to  send  her  away,  and  you  are  to  take  her  place, 
for  which  you  ought  to  be  very  thankful,  as  now  you  are  noth- 
ing but  a  poor  forlorn  girl,  solely  dependent  upon  our  charity. 
As  to  that  Alfred,  there  are  plenty  of  things  he  can  do  to  pay 
us  for  remaining  here.  So  now  you  know  what's  to  be  clone, 
and  there's  an  end  to  it ;  "  and  gathering  round  her  the  loose 
robe  she  delighted  to  figure  in,  the  satisfied  woman  walked 
in  a  stately  manner  out  of  the  room. 

As  one  lifeless  and  immovable,  Anna  still  sat  there.  She 
longed  to  hear  Alfred's  footstep,  but  it  came  not ;  thousands  of 
thoughts  seemed  to  crowd  at  once  the  perturbed  brain,  until 
all  attempt  to  reason  was  in  vain.  She  arose  and  stood  by  a 
window;  she  heard  a  footstep  behind  her,  and  turning,  found 
Miss  Kate  Danvers  standing  before  her.  The  pretty  little  face 
was  beaming  with  animation,  and  Anna  felt  the  contrast  between 
it  and  her  own,  as  she  exclaimed,  "  Why,  Kate,  how  did  you 
find  your  way  up  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  Judy,  or  whatever  you  call  her,  was  so  long  in 
coming  to  tell  you  I  was  here,  that  I  thought  I  would  do  it 
myself;"  seating  herself  as  though  very  much  fatigued  with 
her  journey  up  stairs. 

"  How  is  that  young  lady,  Minerva1*  "  inquired  Anna  break- 
ing the  silence. 

"  Poor  chdd,  she  is  just  the  same  as  ever,  you  would  be  sur- 
prised to  know  how  sensible  she  is  in  some  things,  and  what  a 
foolish,  weak  creature  she  can  be  in  others.  She's  always  fret- 
ting because  she  has  no  home,  no  one  to  love  her."  Anna 
liked  the  delicate  invalid,  and  unwilling  to  hear  her  spoken  of 
lightly,  changed  the  subject.  "  What  a  very  pretty  dress, 
Kate  !  " 

"  It  was  to  have  been  the  travelling  costume  of  a  wedding 
tour." 

"  Indeed  ?  it's  very  pretty.  I  think  I  would  keep  it  for  that 
purpose." 

"  Ah,  but  it  was  never  to  be,"  and  she  heaved  a  sigh.  "  And 
then  this  cloak,  and  these  gloves,  and  ever  so  many  things  of 
poor  Minerva's  " 

"  Oh  !     Then  they  were  hers  !  " 

"  Have  you  never  heard  of  her  misfortune  ?  " 

"I've  seen  her  several  times,  you  know,  but  I  never  heard 
anything  of  her  history.     I  like  her  very   much,  and  would 


52  a  spinster's  story. 

rather  you  would  not  tell  rae  anything  of  her,  she  might  not 
wish  any  one  to  hear,"  added  she,  fearing  this  thoughtless  crea- 
tine was  about  to  divulge  some  secret  of  the  sweet  girl,  for 
whom  she  Pell  so  much  sympathy. 

'•  But  just  let  me  tell  you  why  she  was  not  married,  every 
one  knows  that,  and  what  makes  her  so  miserable  now." 

"Oh  !  plea-:-  don't  No  matter  how  trilling  it  may  seem  to 
you,  take  a  pleasure  in  keeping  it  a  private  matter.  Perhaps 
you  cau't  feel  how  painful  it  is  to  have  something  that  is  near 
and  dear  to  you  handled  and  enlarged  at  the  pleasure  of  the 
public  ;  oh,  please  do  not,"  added  she  entreatingly,  "  especially 
when  the  person  is  so  good  and  kind  as  Minerva." 

"  But  how  does  that  Pyke  go  on  ?  Oh,  don't  you  think  Charles 
Villiers  very  witty  and  interesting '?  Which  of  them, —  Mr.  Ev- 
erett here,  with  his  serious  face,  or  Charles,  do  you  think  strikes 
your  fancy  the  most  ?  Or  are  you  one  of  those  who  determine 
never  to  be  captivated  by  any  one  ?  Ah,  wait  a  while,  my  dear, 
you  will  tell  a  different  tale.  But  I  suppose  you  think  me  a 
giddy,  empty  thing,  so  I  may  as  well  go,"  and  she  was  gone. 

Anna  took  her  place  at  the  window  again,  and  watched  the 
shadows  in  the  street  below,  but  they  passed  and  repassed  with- 
out pausing  at  their  door, —  they  did  not  bring  Alfred.  She  was 
accustomed  to  waiting  long  for  him,  and  often  to  being  disap- 
pointed, but  this  evening  the  expectation  was  a  burden.  Doubt- 
less he  had  some  regard  to  a  vocation  for  his  future  life  ;  what 
was  it?  The  elastic  step  was  heard,  it  never  deceived  the  ear. 
Alfied  entered,  and  closed  the  door.  "Well,  Anna,  I  know 
by  your  face,  Susan  has  told  you  their  decision." 

"  Oh,  Alfred,  is  there  no  way  of  getting  his  address  ?  He 
is  our  father,  and  if  he  still  lives,  would  not  neglect  us,  did  he 
once  know  how  miserably  we  were  treated  here.  I  wish  we 
could  find  out  what  he  really  pays  ;  is  there  no  way  of  learning 
his  direction  ?  " 

"  No  !  we  will  not  write  to  him,  he  has  never  desired  a  word 
of  or  from  us,  never  so  much  as  sent  us  a  message,  and  he  must 
know  we  are  not  children  now.  I  would  rather  lay  stones  in 
the  street,  than  ask  him  for  a  penny.  No,  I  will  not  write,  and 
you  shall  not. 

"  But  Alfred,  what  will  you  do,  what  can  you  do?  He  may 
be  dead,  we  may  never  hear  anything  of  him  any  more." 

Alfred's  arms  were  folded.  The  thick  clusters  of  rich,  dark 
hair  fell  round  his  fine  countenance,  as  his  head  was  bent  up- 
on nis  breast  —  his  usual  mode  of  posture  when  he  had  anything 
particular  to  think  about.     Then  half  loudly,  half  in  a  whisper, 


a  spinster's  story.  63 

"  And  it  is  true  that  we  two  may  he  driven  upon  the  world 
without  a  home,  without,  a  shelter !  Why  have  I  never  thought 
of  it  before?  I  could  barely  support  myself,  and  what  is  to  be- 
come of  you,  my  poor  Anna  '!  " 

"Oh,  how  very  foilorn,  how  very  wretched  we  are!  With 
no  hope  !  "  her  whole  frame  trembles  as  she  continues,  "  Oh  Al- 
lied, what  can  you,  what  will  you  do?  " 

"  I  have  no  fears,  Anna,"  starting  up,  "you  shall  see  what 
I  can  do,"  and  his  joyous  spirit  carried  him  from  his  sister's 
anxious  face,  to  whistle  away  the  fears  that  took  such  entire  pos- 
session of  her  soul. 

She  still  sat  brooding  over  their  sad  fate.  She  could  not 
think,  "  do  not  write  to  him."  To  her,  it  seemed  no  small  mat- 
ter to  be  thrown  upon  the  wide  world,  lonely  orphans,  depend- 
ent upon  the  kindness  of  any  one  who  might  interest  themselves 
for  them,  when  they  had  no  right  to  demand  a  shelter  from  any 
one.  There  was  but  one  aid  remaining  to  her,  which  may  be 
reached  at  any  moment,  in  any  extremity,  no  matter  what  the 
need  may  be, —  the  suppliant  never  pleads  in  vain.  The  door  is 
ever  open,  and  in  the  blessed  promises  of  Him  who  inhabiteth 
eternity,  the  pilgrim  may  draw  near  without  wavering,  and  en- 
couraged by  this  love  to  us.  find  an  ear  ready  to  listen,  an  arm 
mighty  to  save.  And  Anna  sought  this  protection,  that  she 
might  be  armed  with  strength  for  whatever  might  await  her. 

"In  public  the  battle  be  fought, 
But  in  secret  the  weapon  prepare." 

The  urn  was  hissing  upon  the  table  in  the  little  tea-room  of 
Mrs.  Barrow,  where  the  old  lady  sat  nodding  in  her  easy  chair.  • 
"  Good  evening,  my  dear,  my  son  Robert,  good  evening." 
"  A  little  news,  mother  ;  so  I've  something  to  tell." 
"  Robert,  get  ine  my  ear  trumpet,  I'm  rather  deaf  to-night." 
"  And  as  no  one  is  here,  I  will  bring  mine,  too." 
"  My  dear,  my  son  Robert,  what  is  the  news?  " 
"  Mr.  Everett  called  at  the  Exchange  to-day,  to  solicit  some 
interest  for  that  Alfred,  who  was  so  very  impudent  to  me  ;  don't 
you  remember  ?     Well,  they've   lost  their  father,  or  their  mon- 
ey, or  something  that  makes  them  very  poor  and  dependent 
upon  themselves." 

"  My  Robert,  my  first-horn,  how  very  fortunate  for  you,  my 
dear ;   Anna  is  a  sweet  girl.     But  go  on." 
*'  That  is  all,  my  dear  mother." 

"  Oh!  Well,  now  I  wonder  if  Sally  Pykc  could  not  be  of 
great  use  to  you  in  this  matter.     You  say  they  seem  cross  to 


54  a  spinster's  story. 

Anna,  at  Mrs.  Gilbert's,  and  I  would  pet  her  as  T  did  poor  Ces- 
arine.  60  and  tell  this  to  Sally,  talk  of  your  fortune,  and  as  she 
is  so  fond  of  jewels,  promise  her  a  diamond  brooch  if  she  uses 
In  r  influence  for  you  ;  I  know  she  is  very  intimate  with  Susan 
Gilbert,  or  whatever  her  name  is." 

''  Ah  !  if  she  had  no  brother !  When  I  think  of  that  spirited 
young  Alfred,  my  heart  misgives  me." 

"  But  promise  to  help  him.  This  will  be  the  only  way  to 
gain  any  favor  with  Anna." 

"  I  see." 

"  My  dear,  my  son  Robert,  go  to  Sally  Pyke. 

Having  made  his  toilet  and  secured  his  companion,  the  huge 
umbrella,  the  little  old  gentleman  set  out  fo  the  domicile  of 
that  peculiar  lady,  Miss  Pyke. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  on  a  winter's  evening  ;  Miss  Pyke 
sat  alone  in  her  little  parlor.  The  tea-things  had  been  cleared 
away,  her  father,  with  whom  she  lived,  had  retired,  and  she  sat 
busily  occupied  with  her  work-box  as  was  her  custom  when  no 
circumstances  called  her  from  home.  Not  that  Miss  Pyke  wait- 
ed for  an  invitation,  indeed,  she  might  have  waited  long  enough, 
as  no  one  would  ever  have  been  willing  to  have  endured  her 
society  for  a  single  hour ;  but  she  never  stopped  to  consider 
whether  she  annoyed,  or  pleased ;  no  matter  how  often  her 
friends  changed  their  residence,  just  at  the  moment  when  she 
was  the  very  last  person  desired,  Miss  Sally  was  sure  to  knock. 
She  might  have  had  some  very  good  traits  in  her  composition, 
but  as  none  were  ever  discovered,  probably  no  one  had  ever 
taken  the  trouble  to  look  for  any.  Her  age  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  decide,  as  she  was  one  who  never  intended  to  grow 
old,  although  it  was  evident  she  had  been  nothing  else  for  a 
long  time.  How  she  parsed  the  hours  she  scarcely  knew  her- 
self, except  that  she  made  calls  to  gossip  over  the  affairs  of  her 
neighbors,  and  that  altering  her  wardrobe  to  the  latest  fashion, 
occupied  her  considerably.  She  could  not  read  a  great  deal,  she 
said,  as  she  could  never  attend  to  one  object  long  at  a  time. 
However,  a  book  of  poems  was  to-night  upon  her  table  ;  some 
such  volume  might  always  be  found  open  before  her  ;  perhaps 
she  could  not  have  told  you  the  title,  but  no  matter,  it  was  com- 
mendatory of  a  person's  taste  to  see  poems  on  their  table,  and 
that  was  sufficient.  Her  ringlets  had  been  arranged  with  all 
due  precision,  as  no  one  knew  who  might  call,  and  she  now  sat 
copying  from  the  last,  book  of  Paris  fashions  ;  for  Miss  Pyke's 
means  were  limited,  and  all  such  contrivances  were  executed  by 
herself. 


A    SPINSTBBH   BTOBT.  55 

"  Peggy  !  "  A  figure  appeared  at  the  door  in  answer  to  the 
call.  It  was  the  small,  spindle  form  of  a  girl  ;  the  bare,  long 
arms  spoke  of  poverty,  and  the  tired  look  of  the  child  told  she 
had  been  up  many  hours.  "  Yes  ma'am,  here  I  am,"  sinking 
upon  a  little  stool. 

"  You  had  better  come  here,  in  case  I  should  want  you.  But 
bring  that  apron  I  was  so  kind  as  to  give  you,  go  on  sewing  it. 
It  is  a  great  sin  to  be  idle,  and  if  you  are,  you  will  be  sure  lo 
be  punished,  you  know,  at  the  last  day."  A  ring  at  the  bell 
made  Miss  Pyke  start  from  her  seat. 

"  Go  to  the  door,  Peggy  —  run."  And  Miss  Pyke  went  to  the 
window  to  peep  at  the  visitor.  The  light  of  the  full  moon  fell 
upon  the  figure  of  a  man.  "  A  gentleman,  I  declare  !  "  ex- 
claimed she  in  ecstacy.      "  Peggy,  make  haste  !  " 

But  Peggy  had  dropped  into  dream-land,  and  her  thoughts 
were  far  away  in  the  little  home  from  which  Miss  Pyke,  out  of 
compassion,  had  taken  her  to  be  her  maid ;  and  as  she  played 
again  with  the  little  brothers  and  sisters,  she  heard  nothing  of  the 
ring,  or  the  sharp  voice  of  her  mistress. 

"  Peggy,  what  do  you  mean  !  Never  keep  a  gentleman  at 
the  door ;  "  and  seizing  the  two  bony  shoulders,  she  gave  the 
little  sleeper  a  sufficiently  good  shaking  to  cause  her  to  leave 
the  stool  in  no  time,  and  fly  to  the  door ;  in  the  meantime,  Miss 
Pyke's  spectacles  were  thrown  off,  as  they  were  worn  only  in 
private,  the  book  of  poems  placed  opposite  to  her,  while  she 
fat  herself  very  upright  before  it. 

Mr.  Robert  Barrow  entered.  He  did  not  bow,  although  his 
mother  often  taught  him  how,  but  stood  and  looked  at  Miss 
Pyke,  who,  waving  her  hand,  motioned  to  a  chair,  whereon  the 
little  gentleman  seated  himself.  No  one  spoke  ;  the  umbrella 
had  to  be  placed  ;  then  he  carried  two  handkerchiefs,  a  red,  and 
a  white,  and  it  took  a  little  time  for  him  to  distinguish  them. 
This  was  a  respite  to  Miss  Pyke's  agitation,  to  enable  her  to 
collect  her  senses.  She  had  seen  Mr.  Barrow  but  two  or  three 
times,  but  that  was  nothing  ;  she  had  heard  he  was  a  bachelor. 
and  that  he  was  wealthy,  and  this  was  sufficient.  He  was  now 
comfortably  arranged  in  the  chair,  and  leaning  forward,  began, 

"  I  must  come  a  little  closer,  ma'am." 

"  Certainly,  sir,  do." 

"  I  mean  I'm  a  little  deaf,  ma'am." 

"Oh,  that  is  all  !  very  well,  sir." 

"  Miss  Pyke,  I  believe ;  and  I  am  Mr.  Robert  Barrow,  Esq. 
Well,  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you,  ma'am,  very  much  of  late." 

"  Yes,  sir  —  I  understand  —  go  on,  sir."     A  fit  of  coughing 


56  A    SPINSTERS    STOKY. 

put  a  stop  to  Mr.  Barrow's  colloquy,  and  his  listener  took  the 
opportunity  to  whisper,  "  Peggy,  is  my  hair  all  light  '!  speak  in 
a  low  tone." 

'•  Ma'am  !  It  seems  to  me  your  mg  is  crooked,"  exclaimed 
Peggy  loudly,  as  she  yawned  again.  Indignation  was  plainly 
manifested  in  the  face  of  her  mistress,  while  she  proceeded  to 
adjust  the  shaking  ringlets.  On  hearing  Peggy's  Bentenee,  the 
little  gentleman  placed  both  hands  on  his  duly  arranged  peruke 
to  ascertain  if  all  was  right  in  that  quarter.  At  length  Peggy 
was  dismissed,  and  the  visitor  said  that  being  in  want  of  a  wife 
was  the  object  of  his  call.  He  first  told  of  sleepless  nights; 
then  of  his  dreams.  Miss  Pyke  was  in  ecstaeies.  He  spoke  of 
his  fortune,  which  was  more  than  she  had  imagined.  She  was  in 
raptures.  He  said  he  thought  it  quite  right  to  use  every  means 
in  his  power  to  gain  the  object  so  dear  to  him.  Of  course  Miss 
Pyke  thought  so  too  ;  her  happiness  was  complete  ;  she  was 
enchanted.  Alas  !  The  bliss  was  of  short  duration.  Her 
spirits  now  at  ebb  tide  sunk  lower  and  lower,  until  at  the  end 
of  two  hours  her  visitor  had  exhausted  his  harangue,  and  she 
had  learned  that  her  case  was  hopeless.  But  listen  !  the  little 
gentleman  has  somewhat  more  to  say.  "  Miss  Pyke,  I  should 
feel  so  much  obliged  to  any  one  who  would  assist  me  in  this 
matter,  that  no  compensation  would  be  too  much,  the  party  need 
only,  at  the  end  of  the  time,  state  what  the  wish  might  be  — 
it  would  be  gratified."  The  spirits  flowed  again,  as  a  new 
thought  occurred  to  her.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  be  thought 
clever ;  and  to  be  able  to  make  good  matches  was  a  talent  not 
to  be  despised.  Here  was  a  famous  opportunity,  and  the  re- 
compense so  rare  !  Nothing  should  thwart  her ;  she  knew  how 
to  act,  she  would  begin  to-morrow.  With  a  young  wife  like 
Anna,  he  would  take  a  large  house,  and  if  no  one  liked  him, 
every  one  who  knew  Anna  seemed  to  think  much  of  her,  and 
most  probably  they  would  keep  a  great  deal  of  company,  for 
there  would  be  plenty  to  court  their  acquaintance,  as  he  could 
afford  to  entertain  well ;  while  she,  the  institutor  of  the  whole, 
would  always  be  considered  one  of  his  best  friends,  and  treated 
as  such. 

The  little  gentleman  pursued  his  way  homeward  as  briskly 
as  his  withered  limbs  would  cany  him,  to  dream  of  his  new  pos- 
session, and  Miss  Pyke  suffered  the  exhausted  Peggy  to  undress 
her,  that  she  might  recline  on  her  pillow,  and  ponder  the  better 
over  the  business  that  was  to  engross  her  the  following  day. 

The  next  morning  brought  the  first  of  a  series  of  snow  storms, 
and  as  it  would  have  been  exceedingly  imprudent  to  risk  her 


a  spinster's  story.  57 

health,  and  perhaps  her  life,  in  making  the  best  of  matches, 
Miss  Pyke  was  forced  to  postpone  her  visit  to  Sasan  for  the 
present. 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  March  ;  Alfred  had  taken  leave  of 
his  comp  inions  at  school,  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  about  to  be- 
gin a  brilliant  career,  of  which  they  would  hear  again,  at  some 
future  time,  to  admire  or  to  envy,  as  his  name,  laden  with  re- 
nown, rang  through  the  range  of  time.  Alfred  had  been  a  fa- 
vorite, and  many  were  the  extended  hands,  and  eyes  beaming 
with  pleasure,  as,  "  Good-by,  Wentworth,"  resounded  from  all 
parts  of  the  long  gallery.  He  had  been  very  assiduous  in  en- 
d  savoring  to  obtain  som  i  p  isition  in  order  to  make  "  a  strike,"  as 
he  termed  it.  A  quaker  gentleman  had  heard  of  him  through 
Mr.  Everett,  and  sent  for  him  ;  told  him  his  book-keeper  had 
just  left  him,  and  desired  Alfred  to  bring  his  testim  laiils  the 
following  day.  In  high  glee,  glowing  with  hope,  Alfred  rt- 
tarned  home,  and  burst  in  upon  Anna,  exclaiming,  "  Now  you 
will  soon  be  freed  from  this  dungeon;  only  wait  awhile,  a:i  I 
you'll  find  us  two,  in  our  cosy  little  house,  without  any  append- 
ages such  as  Barrows  or  Pykes,  but  there  we  shall  breathe  the 
atmosphere  of oa>e  and  comfort,  and  there,  in  our  independence, 
set  the  world  at  defiance."  Anna  was  not  so  soon  elated,  still 
she  endeavored,  for  his  sake,  to  participate  in  the  pleasure,  as 
she  coaxed  him  to  eat  the  rice  he  so  much  disliked  ;  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  round  the  beloved  form  which  she  would  have 
sacrificed  her  life  to  protect,  she  kissed  the  flushed  cheek,  and 
sought  the  quiet  of  her  room,  to  return  thanks  for  the  friend 
Alfred  had  found. 

The  next  morning,  Alfred  arose  long  before  daybreak,  made 
a  miniature  day-book,  journal,  lodger,  &c. ;  and  before  the 
milk-and-water  was  ready  for  his  morning  repast,  had  gone 
through  many  intricacies  of  double  entry.  The  little  soda  bis- 
cuit was  only  half  finished,  although  Mrs.  Gilbert  declared  such 
were  very  good  for  boys,  when  Alfred  arose  to  leave.  Anna 
followed  him  to  the  door,  "  You  have  no  money  !  " 

"  I  know,  but  I  can  do  without,"  and  he  left  the  house. 
1  Anna  stood  watching  him,  as  his  rapid  steps  took  him  from 
her  gaze.  She  knew  his  impulsive  spirit,  the  quick  temper  so  soon 
roused,  the  fine  feelings  so  easily  wounded  ;  and  as  she  thought 
of  the  iron  minds  of  the  business  men  he  must  encounter,  the 
stern  faces  he  must  brook,  it  seemed  she  must  fly  after  him,  and 
following,  throw  herself  between  him  and  every  obstacle  that 
might  oppose  him.  A  footstep  behind  :  "  There's  plenty  to  do, 
girl,  so  don't  waste  your  time  staring  out  of  the  window."  And 
3* 


58  \    SPINS!  '  !.'"s    STORY. 

Susan  must  be  obeyed,  and  Alfred,  if  possible,  for  a  while  for- 
gotten. 

The  March  winds  had  scattered  the  remaining  snow-flakes, 
and  one  morning,  Miss  Pyke  ventured  to  leave  her  domicile, 
without  fear  of  injuring  her  complexion  by  the  gusts  she  gener- 
ally thought  exceedingly  hurtful  to  a  fine  skin.  Of  course,  on 
reaching  her  destination,  it  was  necessary  the  lady  should  rest 
awhile,  during  which  time  Susan  could  occupy  herself  advan- 
t  igeously,  by  examining  whatever  was  new  in  the  costume  of 
her  visitor  ;  for,  as  Alfred  said,  Miss  Pyke  went  with  the  fash- 
ion, and  Susan  followed  it.  After  taking  a  long  breath,  the  la- 
dy  began  her  attractive  and  persuasive  oration.  It  was  deliv- 
ered with  all  the  eloquence  of  which  her  colloquial  powers  were 
capable;  and  in  satisfaction  to  the  enthusiasm  of  her  argument, 
at  its  close  it  met  with  the  highest  approbation.  But  Anua's 
garb  was  not  such  as  would  be  becoming,  now  that  she  would 
sit  in  t'.ie  parlor,  and  receive  the  attentions  of  a  wealthy  suitor, 
for  her  dress  had  been  made  from  a  worn-out  one  of  Susan's, 
anl  the  dark  color  was  not  likely  to  show  to  advantage  the  grave 
little  creature  that  wore  it.  So  it  would  be  very  advisable  for 
Susan  to  go  and  purchase  one  of  a  bright  color,  while  Miss  Pyke 
remained  to  luncheon,  to  undertake  the  task  of  broaching  the 
subject  to  Anna,  for  which  she  was  much  better  fitted  than 
Susan,  as  she  could  modify  her  vehemence,  when  the  necessity 
was  as  urgent  as  this,  in  order  to  reason  very  disinterestedly  ; 
■whereas  Susan's  mode  of  attack,  was  recourse  to  her  violent 
temper,  by  which  she  sought  to  force  her  victims  into  compli- 
ance. 

"  So  you  are  going  now,  Susan,"  said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  "  Well, 
here's  the  money.  It  is  very  extravagant,  to  be  sure.  I  won- 
der how  the  affair  will  end  !  What  strange  things  happen  in 
this  world  ;  they  set  me  almost  beside  myself.  And  Susan, 
while  you  have  been  dressing,  I've  been  thinking  it  must  be 
very  sad  for  a  young  girl  like  our  Anna,  to  be  tied  to  an  old 
man  she  would  always  dislike." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Gilbert,"  replied  Miss  Pyke  with  a  deep  sigh, 
"it  is  always  so  in  this  life  ;  woman's  lot  is  peculiarly  submis- 
sive and  dependent,  and  the  sooner  girls  find  it  out,  the  belter. 
V«re  have  so  much  to  bear  without  a  murmur,  for  all  men  are 
strange  beings,  and  nothing  but  the  union  of  a  life  time  can  make 
us  acquainted  with  their  many  defects.  And  as  no  girl  is  will- 
ing to  yield  herself  to  solitude  all  her  life,  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence who  it  is,  as  men  are  all  alike  ;  especially  as  Anna  is  so 
forlorn  and  unprotected, —  it  is  a  rare  chance  for  her." 


a  spinster's  story.  59 

"Of  course,"  replied  Susan,  "but  you  are  m  your  dotage, 
old  woman  j  there,  go  along ;"  and  with  the  assistance  of  the 
parasol  she  thought  best  to  carry  even  in  March,  she  scut  the 
pooi'  old  lady  rather  more  quickly  through  the  entry  than  the 
tottering  limbs  usually  carried  her,  for  she  was  now  becoming 
very  feeble. 

Susan  gone,  Miss  Pyke  reigned  supreme  over  the  household. 
"  My  dear  Mrs.  Gilbert,  you  had  better  go  to  your  room;  you 
arc  agitated,  I  know  too  well  what  the  feeling  is,  lie  down  for  a 
little  while,  I  can  manage  Anna  better  alone.  Judy  !  go  and 
tell  Miss  Anna  I  am  come  to  take  luncheon  with  her." 

Anna  was  about  to  indulge  in  a  luxury,  and  had  just  taken 
up  a  book,  when  she  was  obliged  to  descend  to  the  dining-room 
to  perform  what  was  a  very  odious  duty,  —  entertaining  Miss 
Pyke  whom  she  had  not  known  to  be  in  the  house.  After  the 
usual  preliminaries  accompanied  by  the  many  tokens  of  affection 
from  their  guest,  she  exclaimed  in  a  very  faint  voice,  "  Now 
Anna,  I  will  take  my  dinner,  or  luncheon,  or  whatever  you  have 
at  this  hour"  Anna  cast  an  inquiring  look  at  Judy,  who 
having  returned  the  same,  proceeded  very  mechanically  to 
place  upon  the  table  the  scanty  contents  of  the  larder.  After 
seating  herself  ceremoniously  before  the  humble  repast,  the 
lady  produced  a  vial  containing  some  port,  the  half  of  which 
she  poured  into  a  glass  and  drank  ,  then  carefully  corked  the 
remainder,  saying,  "  that  will  do  for  me  another  day." 

To  Anna's  great  disappointment,  when  Miss  Pyke  rose  from 
the  table,  it  was  not  to  go,  for  she  comfortably  settled  herself  in 
an  easy  chair,  and  began,  "  Is  Mr.  Everett  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  believe  not." 

"  How  do  you  like  him  ?  It's  time  you  formed  some  opinion 
of  him." 

"  Oh  —  I  —  we  like  him  very  much." 

"  Ah  !  poor  child,  he's  the  only  one  you've  known,  I  dare 
say  you  think  a  great  deal  of  him;  it  is  always  so  with  the  first. 
I  can  remember  how  attached  I  was  ;  "  a  very  deep  sigh.  "  But 
there  are  better  than  he,  Anna,  secluded  as  you  are,  better  things 
are  no  doubt  in  store  for  you,  so  don't  give  your  affectionate 
little  heart  to  a  poor  hungry  parson.  Have  you  heard  from 
your  father  lately  ?  " 

"Not  very  lately;  my  father  travels  a  great  deal,  and  very 
likely  ca^aot  always  send  a  letter." 

"  Oh,  exactly  ;  although  I  suppose  he  is  in  a  state  of  extreme 
anxiety  to  do  so.  He  is  a  very  good  parent,  is  he  not?  "  look- 
ing Anna  full  in  the  face.     She  could   make   uo  reply  to  the 


60  a  spinster's  story. 

question  whose  irony  wounded  too  deeply,  hut  remained  silent, 
hoping  ("very  sentence  would  he  the  last,  while  it  grieved  her  to 
think  this  talkative  woman  had  been  made  acquainted  with 
their  affairs  ;  and  again,  she  chided  herself  for  heing  surprised, 
since  the  lady  was  so  intimate  with  Susan. 

"  What  shall  you  do,  if  you  hear  nothjng  more  of  him  ?  " 

"  Well  —  I've  scarcely  begun  to  think  of  it." 

"  Certainly  you  would  not  like  to  he  dependent  upon  poor 
Alfred.  If  you  have  any  love  for  him,  you  never  could  be  sued 
a  burden  to  the  poor  fellow  !  " 

She  had  touched  a  tender  chord.  She  could  sec  by  the  emo- 
tion Anna  was  with  difficulty  endeavoring  to  suppress,  that  she 
was  now  in  the  right  direction,  and  she  continued,  "  You  see,  the 
trouble  is,  there's  so  little  time  to  sit  parleying  over  such  a  mat- 
ter, because  I  know  from  what  I  have  heard,  that  your  friends 
here  will  very  soon  get  tired  of  letting  you  stay  with  them  if 
things  do  not  take  a  turn." 

Anna  remained  silent. 

"I  hear  you  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Barrow  and 
her  son  ;  and  I  am  very  much  delighted,  as  you  will  find  him  a 
world  of  use  to  Alfred.  It's  true  he  is  a  little  peculiar,  but 
then  all  men  are,  and  you  must  try  to  bear  with  him  for  your 
brother's  sake.  He  spoke  very  highly  of  Alfred,  and  said  he 
should  be  so  happy  to  use  his  influence  for  him,  which  I  assure 
you  is  not  a  little." 

"Did  he?" 

"  Remember  to  tell  Alfred  what  a  friend  he  has  in  him,  and 
that  the  more  attentive,  and  kind  he  is  to  him,  the  better ;  and 
let  me  add  one  word  more,  although  lam  quite  exhausted  now," 
and  the  head  reclined  on  one  side  in  a  very  pathetic  attitude. 
"  With  you  it  rests  to  see  Alfred  an  independent  man,  or  a 
wretched  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ;  as  I  have  seen  a 
great  many  in  my  time,  dropping  lower  and  lower,  until  no 
vice  is  too  great,  no  crime  too  awful,  no  — " 

"  Oh  do  not,  please,  do  not !  " 

"  My  dear  Anna,  if  you  knew  my  regard  for  that  noble  youth, 
you  would  listen  to  my  words,  but  you  care  so  little  for  him,  I 
fear  he  will  go  to  ruin  !  " 

"  Oh  for  pity's  sake  don't  speak  so  ;  if  I  only  knew  how  to 
help  him  !     Oh  what  can  I  do  !  " 

"  Dearest,  Mr.  Barrow  can  place  him  in  affluence  ;  and  then, 
when  you  had  been  the  means  of  his  good  fortune,  you  would 
not  mind  being  supported  by  him.  You  have  now  but  one 
thing  to  do,  influence  Alfred  to  treat  him  kindly.  Anna,  do 
you  love  Alfred  enough  to  take  this  trouble  ? " 


a  spixstek's  story.  61 

"Don't  ask  me!" 

"  Will  you  follow  my  advice  ?  " 

"I  will." 

"  Then  good-by." 

Day  light  had  faded  into  dusk,  yet  the  candles,  which  were  a 
strange  composition  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  own  manufacturing,  would 
not  be  lighted  for  two  hours  ;  Anna  had  just  finished  some  Utile 
kindnesses  for  the  Judy  who  was  to  leave  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  now  took  her  seat  at  the  window  to  watch  for  Alfred. 

"  He  may  be  successful  to-day,"  thought  she,  "  and  we  will 
not  trouble  the  strange  little  man  !  "  and  the  idea  seemed  a  re- 
lief. Then  again,  Miss  Pyke's  words  struck  forcibly  upon  her 
recollection,  while  their  weight  seemed  to  rest  with  an  awful 
power  upon  her  memory. 

The  wind  arose  ;  a  hurricane  swept  through  the  streets  ;  the 
lightning  flashed,  the  thunder  pealed,  as  the  ruin  fell  in  torrents 
from  the  heavy  black  clouds,  that  threatened  a  continuance  of 
the  violent  storm.  The  thick  darkness  obscured  the  vision,  and 
Anna  could  no  longer  discern  the  figures  in  the  street  as  they 
battled  with  the  elements.  She  had  long  prepared  the  change 
of  clothing  for  the  wanderer,  and  sat  awaiting  his  return.  It 
was  past  eight  o'clock  when  the  ring  was  followed  by  tlie  well 
known  footstep  in  the  passage. 

"  Alfred,  you  must  be  wet  through,  make  haste  to  change 
your  things." 

There  was  no  answer,  as  the  weary  limbs  approached  a  chair, 
and  as  he  threw  himself  into  it,  Anna  saw  the  face  ;  but  oh  ! 
the  disappointment,  the  wretchedness,  that  were  seated  there  ! 
The  blanched  cheeks,  the  full,  expressive  eyes  speaking  volumes 
as  he  fixed  them  upon  her,  while  she  stood  before  him  in  silent 
agony,  viewing  what  appeared  to  her  as  she  thought  of  his  for- 
mer joyousness,  a  complete  wreck.  He  spoke  not  a  word,  but 
at  lenglh  drew  her  towards  him,  and  resting  the  aching  head 
upon  her  shoulder,  he  burst  into  tears. 

"  Indeed,  Alfred,  you  are  not  so  very  wretched  as  you  think, 
but  vou  are  exhausted.  Have  you  taken  any  food  since  your 
breakfast  ?  " 

"  No!  "     He  seemed  too  faint  to  utter  more. 

,;  Do  come  and  lie  down  here,  and  rest  before  you  endeavor 
to  talk." 

Finding  he  became  more  composed,  she  left  him  to  get  some 
refreshment :  fortunately,  Mr.  Everett's  tea  remained  untouched 
upon  the  table,  and  by  the  late  hour,  he  would  not  return 
to  want  it ;  so  hurrying,  lest  she  should  encounter  Susan,  she 


02  A    SriNSTEUS    STORY. 

brought  the  little  tray,  and  knelt  beside  the  couch.  But  Alfred 
had  gone  too  long  without,  to  relish  any  now.  Turning  away 
from  it,  he  threw  bis  arms  round  the  trembling  form  that  bent 
over  him,  and  exclaimed,  "Oh  Anna!  Anna  !  was  it  not  too 
bad,  after  taking  those  testimonials,  and  waiting  two  hours  to 
see  the  old  quaker,  he  said,  after  reading  them  two  or  three 
times,  '  Well,  if  I  should  ever  make  up  my  mind  to  employ  an- 
other assistant,  I  may  send  for  you,  perhaps  ;  '  and  Anna,  I  have 
walked  all  day,  but  without  success.  Oh,  it  is  dreadful  !  I 
wish  we  could  die  !  we  are  so  very  wretched."  And  refusing 
to  be  comforted,  he  wept  more  violently,  as  he  clung  still  closer 
to  the  distressed  Anna  ;  who,  finding  she  could  not  console, 
dropped  her  head  upon  his  bosom,  and  mingled  her  tears  with 
his.  At  last  the  weary  one1  fell  asleep ;  and  awaking  much 
calmed,  Anna  thought  to  cheer  him  by  the  news  Miss  I'yke  had 
brought  ;  but  instead  of  being  pleased,  the  dark  eyes  flashed 
angrily  as  he  exclaimed,  "  Anna,  I  would  sooner  shoot  you  and 
then  commit  suicide,  than  be  under  any  obligation  to  that  mis- 
erable old  ape,  and  besides,  anything  that  came  through  the 
hands  of  that  Pyke,  you  might  know  would  never  come  to  any 
good  :  Oh,  I  believe  I  am  goin<r  mad,  my  head  throbs  so.  What 
shall  I  do  !  " 

With  difficulty  he  reached  his  little  chamber,  where,  kneeling 
in  prayer  to  the  God  of  the  fatherless,  the  brother  and  sister 
poured  out  their  sorrows.  On  entering  his  room  before  she  re- 
tired, Anna  found  he  had  fallen  asleep,  although  his  slumber 
seemed  much  disturbed.  A  cold  moisture  rested  upon  his  fore- 
head, and  successive  chills  appeared  to  run  over  the  weary  limbs  : 
imprinting  her  "  good-night  "  upon  the  brow  of  the  beloved  one, 
she  wiped  away  the  tears  that  still  rested  upon  his  cheek,  and 
left  him  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"Love,  hope,  and  joy,  fair  pleasure's  smiling  train; 
Hate,  fear,  ami  grief,  the  family  of  pain  ; 
These,  mixed  with  art,  and  to  "due  bounds  confin'd, 
MaJte  and  maintain  the  balance  of  the  mind; 
The  lights  and  Bhades  whose  well  accorded  strife 
G  ve  all  the  strength  and  color  of  our  life." 

On  entering  Alfred's  room  the  next  morning,  Anna  found 
h  m  in  a  high  fever,  and  unable  to  rise  ;  he  had  rested  but  poorly 
during  the  night,  and  the  despondency  that  had  hung  over  him 


a  spinster's  story.  G3 

the  previous  evening  still  disturbed  and  troubled  him.  Judy 
had  taken  her  departure,  and  a  thousand  different  orders  kept 

Anna  from  the  bedside,  where  she  lunged  to  linger,  and  when 
noun  had  passed,  and  the  chief  of  the  culinary  duties  were  over, 
she  discovered,  lo  her  inexpressible  horror,  that  reason  was  gone  : 
and  ignorant  of  her  presence,  he  continued  to  call  imploringly 
for  her.  Frenzied  in  her  distress,  she  rushed  below,  and  falling 
upon  the  floor  before  them,  earnestly  entreated  that  a  physician 
might  be  called 

"  Why,  girl,"  replied  Susan,  "  you  talk  like  a  maniac  !  Who 
do  you  suppose  is  coming  to  such  forlorn  beings  as  you  two  are 
now,  without  a  shilling  in  the  world,  except  what  we  choose  to 
give  you  out  of  charity  ".'  " 

"  Then  let  me  get  some  one  to  prescribe  for  him.  Oh,  please 
do  !  Let  me  go  and  speak  to  some  friend  about  him  !  Only 
think  of  it,  he  has  lost  his  reason  !  " 

"  Well,  he  hadn't  much  to  lose,  and  you  are  not  going  to 
leave  the  house  to-day,  so  you  can  make  yourself  content  upon 
that  point.  And  don't  come  here  again,  with  your  long  hair 
streaming  in  that  style,  for  you  take  the  trouble  for  nothing,  as 
Mr.  Everett,  whom  I  suppose  you  are  trying  to  attract,  doesn't 
happen  to  be  at  home." 

"  Oh,  pray  let  me  get  some  one,  do,  for  mercy's  sake  !  "  but 
those  were  deaf  ears  that  she  called  upon,  and  Susan,  taking 
her  by  her  arms,  dragged  her  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  saying, 
"  Go  and  shut  yourself  up  somewhere,  it's  all  you're  fit  for.  like 
any  other  lunatic  ;  "  and  leaving  her  there  in  an  agony  of  grief, 
entered  the  room  again. 

"  Susan,  if  that  Alfred  is  going  to  carry  on  such  a  game  as 
this,  we  shall  get  nothing  from  him,  and  I  think  we  had  better 
give  up  this  house  ;  "  ventured  the  old  lady. 

"  Gracious,  no  !     Why  then  we  should  lose  Mr.  Everett." 

"  You  will  lose  him  at  any  rate.  I  am  sure  he  is  far  more 
partial  to  Anna,  since  he  knew  they  were  poor." 

"  Then  it  is  your  fault,  old  woman,  you  generally  manage  to 
have  her  right  before  his  eyes — " 

"  How  can  you  think  that?  I  should  be  too  glad  to  get  rid 
of  you,  Susan  ;  — " 

"  And  I  daresay,  since  she  has  been  so  busy  about  the  house, 
be  thinks  she  would  make  a  fine  little  wife  for  a  lonely  parson 
like  himself.  However,  I  shall  not  give  him  up  yet;  not  that 
I  care  so  much  about  the  man,  only  that  he  would  prevent  me 
dying  an  old  maid.  But  while  there  is  life  in  that  skeleton  of 
a  Barrow,  there  is  hope  for  me.     Anna  shall   have  him,  aud 


64  a  spinster's  story. 

while  she  La  nursing  the  decrepit  old  fellow  at  home,  T  can  en- 
joy the  carriage,  as  a  r  scorn p  m  i  for  making  the  match.  Things 
are  working  very  well  80  far,  I'm  very  well  satisfied,  and  shall 
get  the  dress-maker  here  to-day  for  Anna's  dress;  the  sooner 
the  trouble  of  ii  all  is  over,  the  better:  "  and  Bhe  left  the  mom. 

Day  after  day,  Alfred  lingered  without  indicating  any  sign 
of  recovery,  the  consciousness  that  would  return  for  a  lime,  soon 
disappeared,  while  the  perturbed  mind  dwelt  continually  upon 
their  misfoi tunes.  Mr.  Everett  seemed  much  impressed  as  he 
beheld  the  affliction  of  the  brother  and  sister,  and  was  exceed- 
ingly thoughtful  and  kind  ;  and  at  la>t,  under  the  careful  treat- 
ment of  his  own  physician,  Alfred  evinced  some  signs  of  amend- 
ment. Before  he  had  anticipated  a  want,  the  kind  forethought 
of  the  minister  had  brought  some  little  delicacy  to  the  couch, 
where  he  often  spent  an  hour,  amusing  the  invalid,  and  mani- 
festing to  all,  that  there  was  a  very  warm  heart  beneath  that 
cold  exterior. 

One  afternoon,  on  entering  Alfred's  room,  which  he  had  now 
kept  for  a  week,  Anna  found  him  sitting  up  for  the  first  time, 
and  what  was  more  satisfactory,  he  evinced  some  return  of  his 
usual  animal  ion. 

"  Oh  Anna,  here  you  are  at  last,  I've  been  longing  for  you 
to  come.  I  could  not  sleep,  and  the  time  passes  so  slowly  ;  then 
I  knew  you  were  as  anxious  to  come  as  I  was  to  have  you,  my 
own  sweet  sister;  you  are  so  good,  what  should  I  have  done 
without  you?  I  know  I  have  never  cared  for  you  as  I  ought, 
but  oh,  Anna,  indeed  I  do  love  you,  and  you  shall  never  find 
me  so  indifferent  and  unkind  again.  I  know,  too,  I  have  been 
a  great  trial  to  you,  and  you  have  so  much  to  bear  without  my 
troubling  you  ;  oh,  I  have  so  much  to  say,  and  I'm  afraid  I  may 
grow  delirious  again,  before  I  finish.  Anna,  I  have  never  want- 
el  to  talk  about  our  mother,  but  I  have  thought  so  much  of  her, 
since  I  have  lain  here.  What  are  your  ideas  of  her,  have  you 
ever  thought  she  is  still  living".''" 

"  No  !  I  feel  confident  she  died." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so.  I  was  older  than  you,  and  since 
I  have  recollected  what  passed  when  we  were  taken  away  from 
her,  [  know  she  must  have  died.  Can't  you  remember  that 
time  V 

Tracing  once  more  her  earliest  recollections,  Anna  saw 
the    little  chamber,  on   a  calm  summer's  evening,  where  they  sat 

:  le  tin'  couch  of  pain,  receiving  the  kind  instructions  and 
sweet  counsel  of  the  beloved  parent,  ere  she  bale  farewell  to 
the   world,  and  joined   the   heavenly  hosts,   in  the  land  of  the 


a  spinster's  story.  G5 

blessed.  "  I  love  them  that  love  me,  and  those  that  seek  me 
early  shall  find  me  ;  "  came  vividly  before  her  memory  as  when 
the  dying  christian  had  uttered  them,  and  now  the  words  seem- 
ed  doubly  precious.  Again  she  saw  the  hue  of  death  rest  upon 
the  delicate  features,  and  felt  herself  and  Alfred  torn  from  the 
favorite  chamber,  while  they  endeavored  in  vain  to  cling  to  the 
cold  corpse  of  the  beloved  mother.  "  So  long  ago,"  said  Anna, 
"  and  yet  how  vividly  it  comes  before  us." 

"  She  was  very  beautiful,  Anna,  and  since  I  have  been  ill, 
that  sweet  face  has  often  visited  me,  and  I  have  not  dared  to 
have  an  unkind  feeling  towards  any  one,  and  have  been  shocked 
when  T  remembered  what  a  thoughtless,  careless,  rebellious  boy 
I  have  been  :  for  the  prayers  you  took  so  much  pains  to  teach 
me  were  either  neglected,  or  uttered  with  such  irreverence 
that  I  am  sure  it  only  increased  my  condemnation  :  and  in  my 
vexations  and  disappointments,  I  had  no  resource  but  despair. 
But  now  I  see  differently  ;  I  do  not  regret  the  difficulties,  ex- 
cept where  they  troubled  you,  for  they  have  made  me  wiser. 
We  are  now  orphans,  to  struggle  alone  through  the  many  vicis- 
situdes of  life,  and  I  am  sine  nothing  but  your  confidence  in  all 
which  is  good,  has  supported  you  through  the  misery  you  have 
combated  with,  in  this  house.  It  was  not  until  I  became  more 
observant,  that  I  was  aware  how  much  you  suffered  ;  and  in- 
stead of  relieving  you,  T  often  aided  to  your  trials.  But  Anna, 
my  sister,  I  will  now  take  my  place  beside  you,  and  never,  as 
long  as  life  remains,  will  I  desert  my  dear,  good  Anna.  I  know 
now  there  is  but  one  sure  foundation  for  happiness,  both  in  the 
events  of  this  life  as  well  as  in  that  which  is  to  come  after,  and 
I  am  resolved,  by  God's  grace,  to  trust  in  His  providence  and 
not  fear  any  evil  that  may  happen  to  me.  You  know  the  ser- 
vant, St.  James,  says  '  Is  any  among  you  afflicted,  iet  him  pray.' 
And  St.  Paul  so  beautifully  expresses  the  love  of  God  towards 
us  when  he  says  '  For  I  am  persuaded  that  neither  death,  nor 
life,  nor  angels,  nor  principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present, 
nor  things  to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any  other  crea- 
ture, shall  be  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God,  which 
is  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord.'  " 

"  You  are  tired,  dear  ;  rest  awhile." 

"  In  a  minute,  but  I've  one  thing  more  to  say.  I  know  Su- 
san and  the  old  lady  have  not  been  very  kind,  but  I  have  done 
very  wrong.  I  have  hated  them,  and  our  Saviour  said  '  Love 
your  enemies.'  I  will  try  never  to  feel  such  evil  towards  them 
again.  I  want  you  to  tell  them  I'm  sorry,  in  case  I  should  die 
without  their  forgiveness."     The  glow  of  bright  animation  that 


6G  a  spinster's  stobt. 

had  lit  up  tlic  fine  features  bad  long  departed,  and  he  fell  back 
upon  bis  pillow  exhausted.  Wiping  away  the  tears  that  bad 
flowed  during  the  converse,  Anna  went  down  stairs  in  search 
of  .1  restorative.  Mr.  Everett  had  gone  out.  Seeing  no  one 
but  Mrs.  Gilbert,  .-lie  thought  it  a  good  time  to  give  Alfred's 
mess; 

"  Tell  him  we  arc  not  such  fools,  so  he  need  not  take  the 
trouble  to  play  the  hypocrite  ;  "  and  Susan  instantly  appeared 
from  behind  a  closet  door.  Anna  said  no  more,  but  took  the 
vial,  and  w:is  leaving,  when  Susan  bade  her  remain.  "  Take  off 
your  dress,  girl  ;  do  you  heat'.''  dont  stand  there  staring  at  me, 
but  do  as  I  tell  you."  In  her  unutterable  astonishment,  Anna 
obeyed,  now  was  she  amazed  by  Susan's  rpugh  hands  placing 
upon  her  a  bright,  gaudy,  red  dress  of  an  immense  pattern. 
What  could  it  mean  V  and  Alfred  on  hiscouch  between  life  and 
death.  "  There,  you  needn't  look  so  bewildered,  girl,  the  whole 
explanation  is,  we  are  much  kinder  to  you  than  you  deserve. 
That  will  do  very  well,"  continued  she,  thrusting  up  one  sleeve 
and  pulling  down  another.  "  Now  take  it  off;  you  are  to  wear 
it  only  when  I  command  you." 

As  Anna  was  passing  up  stairs,  puzzled  at  Susan's  generosity, 
the  bell  rang.  Susan  hasted,  and  opened  the  door;  Anna 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Lydia  and  Charles.  With  an  exelamation 
of  delight,  she  was  hurrying  to  them,  when  Susan  closed  the 
door  upon  them,  and  turning,  said  to  Anna,  "you  needn't  trou- 
ble to  come  down,  I  soon  despatched  them."  Anna  had  not 
left  the  house  for  more  than  a  week,  and  would  have  given 
worlds  to  have  seen  her  friends,  especially  for  Charles  to  have 
gone  up  to  Alfred  ;  but  it  was  only  one  of  the  vexations  that 
followed  in  the  train  of  its  predecessors,  and  might  as  well  be 
borne  with  patience.  She  had  just  reached  Alfred's  door,  when 
there  was  a  second  ring,  and  Susan  called  out  "  Anna,  come  to 
the  door."     To  her  dismay  there  stood  Miss  Pyke. 

"My  dear  Anna,  I've  come  expressly  to  see  our  favorite 
Alfred.  I  met  that  good  man,  Mr.  Everett,  this  morning,  and 
learned  from  him  that  your  brother,  dear  fellow,  was  quite  in- 
di.-posed.  I've  brought  some  of  Dr.  Shank's  remedy,  it  cures 
all  diseases  ;  once,  poor  Mr.  Barrow  had  the  gout,  or  some 
dreadful  pain,  of  course  I  did  not  ask  the  particulars,  although 
I  have  known  him  so  long;  however,  whatever  it  was,  it  cured 
him."  On  meeting  Sn>ati  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh  my  dear  I  have 
come  on  purpose  to  talk  a  little  with  you  in  private."  Closing 
the  door  upon  a  woman  who  always  disgusted  her,  Anna  under- 
took once  more  to  administer  the  restorative  to  Alfred  ;  but,  on 


a  spinster's  story.  G7 

entering,  she  fouml  he  had  fallen  asleep,  and  sat  down  to  await 
his  awakinji.  He  still  slumbered  when  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Miss  Pyke  approached  the  couch,  saying, — 

"  I  will  soon  relieve  hiin."  and  taking  him  by  the  shoulders, 
heedless  of  the  tearful  entreaties  of  Anna,  she  roused  the  pale 
sufferer  to  consciousness.  Uttering  some  faint  exclamation,  the 
weary  eyelids  dropped  again  ;  but  the  lady  was  very  persever- 
ing when  she  felt  inclined,  and  taking  a  bottle  from  her  pocket, 
she  endeavored  to  pour  its  contents  down  the  throat  of  the  in- 
valid. As  well  as  his  fee!>le  strength  would  allow,  he  resisted, 
but  neither  his  or  Anna's  strength  could  gain  the  mastery  over 
the  obstinate  woman.  "  She  would  not  be  baffled,"  she  said,  and 
after  contending,  and  struggling  for  a  long  time,  the  whole  of 
Dr.  Shank's  remedy  was  spilled  over  the  head  and  face  of  the 
exhausted  Alfred  ;  while,  dissatisfied  at  not  succeeding  better, 
the  troublesome  woman,  suppressing  her  anger,  forced  a  kiss 
upon  the  forehead  of  Anna,  and  left  the  room. 

Alfred  was  slowly  recovering  and  needed  a  change  and  the 
fresh  air,  when  "Mrs.  Villiers  called.  Susan  did  not  find  it  so 
easy  a  matter  to  satisfy  her  with  an  abrupt  answer,  as  she  had 
the  previous  inquirers,  for  this  lady  had  seen  more  of  the  world, 
and  was  not  so  short-sighted.  Her  gentle  manner  quite  over- 
came the  virago,  who  could  not  refuse  her  seeing  Anna  ;  and 
according  to  an  arrangement  now  made,  Charles  and  Lydia  came 
in  the  afternoon  with  the  carriage  to  take  them  for  a  drive. 
Susan  stood  looking  at  them  as  they  drove  away  ;  she  had  been 
in  one  of  her  sullen  humors  for  several  hours,  but  at  last  she 
spoke.  "  It's  a  fine  thing  for  those  children  to  be  riding  about 
in  a  carriage, —  what  a  fool  I  was  to  let  them  £0  !  and  Mr.  Ever- 
ett  has  talked  a  great  deal  with  Anna  of  late,  a  pretty  pass 
things  are  coming  to  ;  yes,  I  may  stay  at  home,  while  a  bit  of 
a  girl,  who  hasn't  a  home  or  a  penny  in  the  world,  monopolizes 
the  courtesy  that  an  experienced,  full-grown  woman  like  me 
ought  to  demand.  But  I  will  have  my  day.  Wait  a  while,  Anna, 
your  friends,  those  Villiers,  will  soon  be  going,  and  no  one  else 
can  oppose  ;  yes,  I  can  ride  in  a  carriage  then,  while  you,  my 
dear  girl,  will  be  keeping  vigil  beside  your  decrepit  little  apology 
for  a  husband  ;  you'll  see  then  I'm  going  to  rule  a  while  longer. 
Yes,  you  may  go  for  a  drive  to  day,  all  things  in  their  own  good 
time,  the  summer  will  tell  a  different  tale  !  " 

•  Although  the  air  had  invigorated  Alfred,  the  exertion  and 
excitement  of  going  out  had  greatly  fatigued  him,  and  urging 
him  to  partake  of  a  light  repast,  which  the  kind  thought  of  Mr. 
Everett  had  prepared  for  him,  Anna  persuaded  him  to  retire 


68  A  spinster's  story. 

early.  Stealing  into  his  little  room  soon  after,  she  found  he  had 
fallen  into  a  peaceful  Blumber,  and  taking  a  last  look  at  the 
thin,  pale  face,  went  to  her  room  to  pass  the  evening  at  her  own 
disposal.  She  had  just  opened  the  "  Life  of  Madam  de  G-enlis," 
—  for  her  perseverance  and  close  application  had  made  her  very 
familiar  with  the  French  language, —  when  her  door  was  thrust 
open,  and  Susan,  in  her  evening  dress,  appeared. 

"There,  put  away  all  such  rubbish  as  that,  and  put  on  that 
handsome  dress  I  was  so  kind  as  to  give  you,  put  your  hair 
down  your  face,  and  then  you'll  look  more  of  a  woman  ;  remem- 
ber to  talk  as  pleasantly  as  you  can,  and  at  all  events,  what- 
ever you  do,  don't  sit  like  a  deaf  mute,  but  say  something." 

"  Susan,  what  do  you  mean,  please  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  mean  you  are  to  mind  what  I  say,  if  you  don't  want 
to  be  turned  into  the  street.  Mind  you  appear  very  sympa- 
thetic, and  inquire  after  all  his  aches  and  pains,  and  the  like." 

"  Oh,  Susan,  whom  do  you  mean  ?    I  don't  understand  you." 

"  I  te'.l  you  he's  coming  to-night,  Mr.  Barrow,  I  mean,  to 
talk  over  the  welfare  of  Alfred,  as  Miss  Pyke'told  you  ;  "  and 
waving  the  feathers  she  carried  on  the  top  of  her  head,  she  de- 
scended the  stairs  again. 

Anna  could  not  imagine  what  the  welfare  of  Alfred  could 
have  to  do  with  the  aches  and  pains  of  the  old  gentleman  ;  how- 
ever, as  the  former  occupied  the  first  place  in  her  thoughts,  the 
dress,  distasteful  as  its  glaring  red  pattern  was  to  her,  had  been 
put  on,  her  hair,  in  accordance  with  Susan's  commands,  had 
been  combed  down  the  grave  little  face,  and  this  preliminary 
penance  over,  Anna  left  her  room,  in  happy  ignorance  of  the 
purport  of  the  little  man's  visit. 

Two  hours  had  passed  ;  still  Anna  sat  a  victim  to  the  whim- 
sical individual,  who,  seated  opposite  her,  never  once  relinquished 
his  tight  grasp  of  both  her  hands.  His  garrulity  might  have 
been  summed  up  in  the  following, —  that  he  thought  her  a  very 
nice  girl,  admired  her  brother,  and  intended  to  place  him 
where  his  talents  would  unfold  to  advantage,  and  that  aspiring 
mind  find  scope  for  the  exercise  of  its  ambition.  But  like  all 
other  miseries,  there  was  an  end  also  to  this  torture,  and  the 
strange  little  man  arose  to  depart,  and  too  happy  to  be  free 
from  the  caresses  so  offensive  to  her,  she  flew  to  her  room,  locked 
her  door  and  found  relief  to  her  agitated  feelings  in  a  flood  of 
tears.  There  was  so  much  to  be  borne  ;  to  be  obliged  to  sub- 
mit at  all  times  to  the  caprice  of  this  mysterious  stranger,  and 
after  all,  even  if  Alfred  were  willing  to  yield,  so  distasteful 
would  it  be  to  receive  a  kindness  from  one  they  so  intensely  dis- 


a  spinster's  stoky.  G9 

liked.  A^ain  Alfred's  ill  health  and  need  of  assistance,  crowd- 
ed upon  her  recollection,  and  amid  a  thousand  hopes  and  fears 
the  troubled  spirit  cast  itself  upon  an  Almighty  power,  and  she 
laid  the  aching  head  upon  her  pillow. 

Mr.  Barrow's  visits  became  frequent ;  and  so  wily  were  all 
parties  concerned  in  the  plot,  that  even  the  quick  eye  of  Alfred 
discovered  no  object,  other  than  the  desire  to  obtain  for  him  a 
vacancy  that  was  expected  shortly  in  the  firm  of  which  Mr. 
Barrow  was  a  principal  partner.  Alfred,  whose  recovery  now 
emancipated  him  from  his  chamber,  seldom  did  penance  by  re- 
maining in  the  house,  and  Anna  missed  him  greatly,  and  some- 
times felt  he  might  have  endured  a  little  that  was  disagreeable, 
to  cheer  her  loneliness  and  scatter  the  ennui  that  so  often  hung 
heavily  upon  her  ;  but  upon  chiding  him  for  the  neglect,  an 
embrace  and  a  kiss  were  always  a  satisfactory  atonement,  so 
glad  was  she  to  see  him  happy  ;  she  could  forego  the  pleasure 
of  his  society,  to  know  he  was  free  from  the  demands  of  Mrs. 
Gilbert,  and  out  of  reach  of  the  sounds  of  tyranny  that  ever 
emanated  from  the  harsh  tones  of  Susan. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall, 
And  Rowers  to  wither  at  the  north  wind's  breath; 
And  stars  to  set, —  hut  all, 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  Oh  Death  !  " 

Mm.  Hemaxs. 

During  Alfred's  illness,  Mr.  Everett  and  Anna  had  often 
been  thrown  together,  and  by  slow  degrees  the  reserve  that 
characterized  him,  wore  away.  Perhaps  he  found  much  to  pity ; 
it  might  be  he  found  somewhat  to  admire  in  the  quiet  little 
mind,  that  timorously  retreated  from  the  slightest  approach  to 
an  intimacy,  the  sympathy  and  confidence  of  which  she  would 
have  given  worlds  to  have  possessed.  However,  Mr.  Everett 
was  too  impenetrable  for  any  scrutiny,  and  all  curiosity  must 
resort  to  patience,  and  await  the  issue  of  time. 

Who  or  what  his  family  and  friends  were,  if  he  had  such, 
and  what  little  history  belonged  to  him,  was  more  than  Susan's 
indefatigable  exertions  could  discover ;  that  he  came  from 
Boston  was  a  certainty,  but  that  was  all.  Some  declared  him 
very  unhappy ;  others,  that  he  was  out  of  health  only ;  and  there 


70  A    SPIN-STEINS    STORY. 

were   those   who  were   sure  it  was  his  natural  disposition  to  bo 
unlike  most  men  of  bis  Bge. 

One  evening,  as  Anna  sat  alone  in  the  little  parlor,  thinking 
she  was  the  only  person  at  home,  Mr.  Everett  entered  and  took 
a  seat.  He  spoke  of  the  ubange  of  seasons  and  of  the  flight  of 
time,  ami  though  his  subject  was  grave,  his  manner  was  any- 
thing but  gloomy,  even  if  he  could  not  be  called  cheerful,  lie 
dwelt  upon  the  roll  of  events  that  pass  before  us,  ever  unfold- 
ing something  unexpected,  something  new  ;  and  the  perplexi- 
ties and  difficulties  that  must  form  a  part  of  each  life,  when  the 
essence  of  true  religion  would  be  found  the  only  comforter. 
He  was  very  earnest  in  exhorting  all  who  desired  to  become  a 
follower  of  the  Saviour,  to  make  an  open  profession  of  their  re- 
ligion, and  spoke  solemnly  and  emphatically  upon  the  institu- 
tion of  the  Holy  Communion,  the  dying  command  of  Him  who, 
having  finished  his  great  work  of  redemption,  ascended  into  the 
highest  heaven,  where  He  now  sitteth  at  the  light  hand  of  the 
Father.  "  Anna,  continued  he,  were  we  to  wait  until  we  were 
holy,  we  could  never  approach  those  holy  mysteries ;  the  feel- 
ing of  our  utter  unworthiness  is  sufficient,  if  it  lead  us  to  a  true 
repentance,  having  a  steadfast  faith,  a  lively  hope,  a  universal 
charity.  This  is  all  that  is  required  of  us,  the  rest  remains  with 
God  ;  for  '  Every  good  gift,  and  every  perfect  gift  is  from  above, 
and  cometh  down  from  the  Father  of  lights,  with  whom  is  no 
variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turning  '  ;  so  that,  unworthy  as 
we  are,  we  may  trust  in  His  mercy.  '  Being  confident  of  this 
very  tiling,  that  he  which  hath  begun  a  good  work  in  you,  will 
perform  it  until  the  day  of  Jesus  Christ.'  And  even  were 
there  no  life  beyond  this  present  existence,  if  a  conformity  to  the 
principles  of  religion  enabled  us  to  follow  more  consistently  in 
the  path  of  rectitude,  with  more  love  to  our  fellow  men,  would 
it  not  be  worthy  our  attention?"  He  seemed  inclined  to  say 
more,  but  here  they  were  interrupted,  and  rising  to  go  be  added, 
"  After  the  great  Napoleon,  who  half  canquered  the  world, 
had  himself  been  conquered,  and  retired  to  the  little  island  of 
St.  Helena,  some  friend  asked  him,  '  Which  was  the  proudest 
day  of  his  whole  life?'  He  expected  of  course,  that  he  would 
name  some  day  when  he  had  fought  one  of  his  hardest  battles, 
or  achieved  one  of  his  greatest  victories,  or  had  received  the 
crown  as  emperor  from  the  hands  of  the  Pope  ;  but  his  answer 
was  simply  '  The  day  on  which  I  received  my  first  communion.'  '; 
As  he  left  the  room  Anna  followed  him  with  her  eyes,  until  the 
door  of  the  little  study  in  which  he  passed  so  much  of  his  time, 
closed  upon  him,  and  the  tall  figure  was  hidden  from  her  view  ; 


A   SPINSTERS    STORY.  71 

but  her  memory  ever  retained  his  words,  nor  were  they,  as  they 
fell  from  the  rich  full  voice,  lost  in  their  effect  upon  the  listen*  r, 
and  before  long  he  saw  the  effect  of  his  words,  as  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  slender  figure  of  Anna  as  she  knelt  at  the  altar. 

"  Busy  as  usual,  Anna,"  said  Kate,  as  she  entered,  and  threw 
herself  into  the  nearest  seat.  "  I  had  nothing  particular  to 
occupy  me  just  now,  so  thought  I  would  come  to  take  a  peep  at 
you.  How  is  Alfred  ?  I  longed  so  much  to  see  him  during 
his  illness,  and  sometimes  chose  a  book  to  read  to  him,  for  I 
know  some  young  fellows  would  be  delighted  to  have  me  be- 
guile their  weary  hours  away  when  they  are  so  ill,  but  then  I 
knew  father  would  scold,  mother  would  lecture,  and  Josephine 
would  never  forget  to  talk  about  it." 

"  How  is  poor  Minerva  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  asked  her  lately.  But  do  for  pity's  sake  tell  me, 
is  it  true  that  you  tolerate  that  old  Barrow  ?  What  does  he 
come  for  ?  not  to  see  you,  surely  !  " 

"  He  is  a  friend  to  Alfred,  and  I  think  it  but  right  to  treat 
him  politely." 

"  Oh  !  But  my  dear  girl,  you  pay  dearly  for  his  friendship, 
if  you  are  obliged  to  sit  by  the  hour  and  hear  the  catalogue  of 
gout,  asthma,  cramp,  paralysis,  palsy,  colic,  cough,  palpitation, 
blindness,  deafness,  fits,  spasms,  and  all  the  other  infirmities  of 
the  old  sinner.  He  never  tried  it  but  once  at  our  house  ;  for 
we  all,  after  almost  strangling  ourselves  to  keep  back  the  laugh- 
ter, burst  into  a  loud  roar,  in  which  the  very  dog  and  parrot 
united  their  efforts,  as  the  peal  followed  the  little  bachelor  out 
of  the  house.  That  was  the  evening  he  came  to  make  a  propos- 
al for  me,  when  I  had  not  so  much  as  condescended  to  look  at 
the  little  scarecrow,  and  he  said  he  thought  it  nothing  but  right 
to  tell  what  few  ailments  troubled  him  a  little  occasionally. 
And  that  was  and  ever  will  be  the  last  of  him  in  his  dealings 
with  me.  So  I  hear  the  Villiers  are  to  start  soon.  Charles  is 
very  attractive,  don't  you  think  so  ?  Did  you  know  Mr.  Everett 
was  very  much  attached  to  Lydia  ?  " 

"  I've  heard  nothing  of  it." 

"  Oh,  it's  quite  true.  Don't  you  remember  how  sad  he  has 
always  seemed  ?  Of  course  be  knows  very  well  no  young  lady 
with  her  fortune,  would  care  for  a  poverty-stricken  preacher, 
although,  they  say,  she  likes  him.  But  I  cannot  believe  it,  she 
is  such  a  beautiful  girl.     I  never  envied  any  one  half  as  much." 

"  She  is  beautiful  and  good,  but  I  know  nothing  of  the  rest. 
You  must  please  excuse  me  now.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  and 
will  call  to  see>Miss  31iaerva  as  soon  as  possible." 


i  2  A    SPINSTERS    STORY. 

Anna  was  watching  her  visitor  from  the  window  as  she  de- 
scended the  steps,  thinking  of  her  words  in  regard  to  the  sweet 

Lydia,  when  her  eye  caught  a  glimpse  of  Alfred,  who  appeared 
much  excited,  from  the  irregularly  rapid  steps  with  which  lie 
appioached  the  bouse.     His  illness  had  made  him  much  thinner, 

and  he  appeared  taller.  She  sometimes  thought  he  was  rapidly 
declining,  when  the  little  incident  of  his  proposed  tombstone 
struck  painfully  upon  her  recollection.  "How  Alfred  grows  !  " 
said  she,  half  aloud.  "  Of  course,"  replied  a  voice  behind  her, 
"ill  weeds  grow  apace;"  and  turning,  she  encountered  Susan. 

"  I  thought  I  spoke  to  you  once  before,  girl,  about  staring 
out  of  the  window,  wasting  your  time  :  you  had  better  go  and 
boil  some  rice  instead,  or  }Tou  and  that  scapegrace  will  fast  in- 
stead of  feasting  at  dinner  time."  But  Alfred's  appearance 
alarmed  her,  and  running  to  meet  him,  she  found  him  almost 
breathless  as  he  reached  the  door.  "Oh  Anna,  something  very 
awful  has  happened  at  Mr.  Villiers  !  "  and  he  sunk  upon  the 
stairs  to  rest. 

"  Is  any  one  dead  ?  " 

"  I  fear  so,  by  this  time." 

"Who,  not  Lydia?" 

"  I  saw  her  a  moment  ago,  but  she  seemed  quite  distracted. 
She  ran  down  stairs,  and  seizing  hold  of  me  exclaimed,  '  Alfred, 
we  are  in  trouble  !  '  then  letting  go  her  hold,  passed  me  hurriedly 
by.  I  went  to  the  kitchen,  but  it  was  deserted,  all  were  up 
stairs ;  where  I  heard  lamentations  and  excessive  distress ;  a 
feeling  of  sickness  came  over  me,  and  fearing  I  might  faint,  I 
hurried  homeward." 

"  What's  all  that  nonsense  about?  "  inquired  Susan. 

"  I  must  go  there  now,"  said  Anna. 

"  You  would  be  of  no  use,  girl,  I'll  go  myself,  and  see  what 
the  matter  is ;  "  continued  Susan.  "  I  dare  say  that  brother  of 
theirs  has  fallen  headlong  and  broken  his  neck.  Boys  are  al- 
ways making  trouble  for  themselves  and  every  body  else  "  It 
took  Susan  a  long  time  to  equip  herself  as  she  thought  becoming, 
before  visiting  such  a  house  as  that  of  Mr.  Villiers  ;  and  Anna, 
who  had  prevailed  upon  Alfred  to  lie  down  awhile,  remained  in 
the  most  anxious  suspense  to  know  what  had  happened.  He 
arose  several  times  to  go  again  to  make  inquiry,  but  it  was 
raining,  and  as  his  cough  seemed  returning,  Anna  would  not  allow 
him  to  risk  fresh  cold,  and  begged  him  to  wait  the  return  of  Mr. 
Everett,  or  Susan.  And  reading  to  him  to  composo  him,  she 
was  at  last  satisfied  to  see  he  had  fallen  asleep.  Mr.  Everett 
did  not  return,  and  it  was  night  fall  when  Susan  came  back. 


a  spinster's  story.  73 

To  Anna's  earnest  inquiry  her  answer  was,  "  Oh,  T  scarcely 
stopped  to  see,  Miss  Fyke  was  there,  and  we  went  shopping  ; 
you  did  not  suppose  I  was  going  to  stay  all  day  in  a  house  hear- 
ing the  cries  of  misery,  did  you?  There,  don't  pester  me  with 
your  questions.  I'll  take  my  supper  now  and  go  to  bed  ;  Sally 
would  go  so  far,  and  I'm  tired."  Having  seated  herself  in  her 
loose  robe,  she  exclaimed,  "  There'll  be  no  travelling  to  the 
Holy  Land  now,  or  anywhere  else  either." 

"  Susan,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Indeed,  I  think  you  might 
tell  me  what  has  happened  ;  "  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  don't  like  young  girls  to  meddle  with  other  people's 
business." 

Early  the  next  morning  Mr.  Everett  returned,  and  brought 
word  that  Mr.  Villicrs  was  dead. 

It  was  the  last  morning  the  sun  rose  for  the  affectionate  father. 
The  happy  group  met  for  the  morning  devotions.  The  second 
lesson  was  the  seventeenth  chapter  of  St.  John's  Gospel,  where 
our  Saviour  prays  for  his  apostles.  Charles  usually  read  the 
lessons, —  by  some  chance  it  was  read  by  Mr.  Villiers  himself. 
His  comments  were  longer  than  ordinarily,  as  he  dwelt  upon 
the  sublimity  of  the  language  of  the  Saviour's  last  prayer  upon 
earth, —  His  parting  wish  to  meet  those  chosen  ones  in  Heaven, 
for  whom  He  now  poured  forth  the  fullness  of  His  love,  in 
pleading  for  their  glorification.  "  Father,  I  will  that  they  also 
whom  Thou  hast  given  me,  be  with  me  where  I  am."  It  was 
not  a  suppliant  petitioning,  it  was  the  claim  of  a  conqueror. 
He  desired  they  may  be  partakers  of  His  glory,  and  so  impor- 
tunate is  the  plea,  as  though  these  earthly  jewels  were  needed 
to  complete  His  crown, —  their  happiness  constituting  a  part  of 
His  own  !  The  little  group  was  about  to  disperse  ;  a  remark 
was  dropped  ;  so  impressive  was  the  answer,  all  stood  to  hear, 
while  Mr.  Villiers  seeming  unwilling  to  leave  the  subject,  con- 
tinued, "  Each  has  some  appointed  work  to  perform,  some  little 
niche  in  the  spiritual  temple  to  occupy.  Yours  may  be  no 
splendid  services,  no  flaming  or  brilliant  actions  to  blaze  and 
dazzle  in  the  eye  of  man.  It  may  be  the  quiet  unobtrusive 
inner  work,  the  secret  prayer,  the  mortified  sin,  the  forgiven 
injury,  the  trifling  act  of  self-sacrifice  for  God's  glory,  and  the 
good  of  others,  of  which  no  eye  but  the  Eye  which  seeth  in  se- 
cret is  cognizant.  It  matters  not  how  small.  Remember,  with 
Him,  motive  dignifies  action.  He  can  be  glorified  in  little 
things  as  well  as  great  things,  and  by  nothing  more  than  the 
daily  walk,  the  daily  life  !  " 

The  father  lingered  that  morning  to  take  a  second  farewell  of 
4 


i  \  A    SPINSTEB  S    BTOET. 

his  family  :  it  was  the  last  time  they  looked  upon  that  face  ra 
(limit  with  life  ;  he  bouse.     At  noon  they  surrounded 

the  same  form,  but  it  was  that  of — a  corpse. 

Mr.  bilkers  was  a  principal  stockholder  in  one  of  the  first 
banks  of  Philadelphia.  Shortly  before  his  death,  the  founder 
of  a  railroad  in  the  West,  being  incensed  towards  Bome  of  the 
stockholders  for  not  agreeing  to  unite  in  his  speculation,  bribed 
editor  of  a  leading  paper  to  proclaim  the  hank,  "  Suspend- 
ed." Demands  were  made  instantly,  and  unable  to  fulfil  all 
obligations,  the  personal  property  of  the  stockholders  was  seized, 
and  3Ir.  Villiers  reduced  to  penury. 

He  was  returning  from  a  depositor  where  in  vain  he  had 
1  egged  him  to  wait,  when  a  fit  of  apoplexy  seized  him,  he  fell 
insensible  upon  the  pavement,  and  before  he  could  be  conveyed 
home,  life  was  extinct. 

The  day  arrived  when  the  last  rites  to  the  departed  must  be 
performed.  The  rich  and  the  poor,  the  arrogant  and  the  hum- 
ble, thronged  the  aisles  which  had  witnessed  his  attendance  so 
many  years.  All  met  to  mourn  the  loss  of  one  whom  all  re- 
spected, although  only  a  few  could  appreciate. 

The  solemn  silence  was  broken  by  the  words  "  I  am  the  resur- 
rection and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord  :  he  that  believeth  in  me, 
though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  :  and  whosoever  Uveth 
and  believeth  in  me,  shall  never  die."  "  I  know  that  my  Re- 
deemer liveth,  and  that  he  shall  stand  at  the  Litter  day  upon  the 
earth.  And  though  after  my  skin  worms  destroy  this  body,  yet 
in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God  :  whom  I  shall  see  for  myself,  and 
mine  eyes  shall  behold,  and  not  another." 

They  stood  by  the  grave  ;  the  remains  of  the  fond  husband 
and  affectionate  parent  were  committed  to  the  solitude  of  the 
tomb.  "Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust ;  "  and 
the  bereaved  ones  must  )  turn  to  a  home  circle  vacant  and  des- 
olate, because  his  smile  was  gone  forever,  and  the  household 
once  rendered  happy  by  his  presence,  would  know  him  no  more  ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

"The  soul's  dark  cottage,  shattered  and  decay'd, 
Lets  in  new  light  through  chinks  which  time  hasmado." 
••And  yet  that  sweet  face  is  not  all  "('sorrow, 
It  wears  a  softer  and  a  higher  mood; 
And  Beemeth  from  the  world  within  to  borrow 
A  holy  and  a  constant  fortitude." 

A  week  has  passed  ;  the  last  beams  of  the  setting  sun  are 
shedding  their  effulgence  of  peace  over  the  streets  of  Philadel- 
phia. In  her  room,  and  alone,  sits  the  beautiful  Lydia  ;  the 
robe  of  mourning  seems  to  lend  a  calm  resignation  to  the  mel- 
ancholy face,  as  the  full,  dark  eyes  are  raised  to  the  window  to 
watch  the  last  rays  of  the  declining  day.  Before  her  on  a  ta- 
ble, is  an  unfinished  letter,  which  appears  often  to  engross  her 
attention.  Twilight  has  faded  ;  the  taper  is  lighted,  and  the 
letter  concluded.  The  direction  of  her  grandfather  in  Prussia 
has  just  been  written,  when  a  gentle  tap,  and  the  widow  enters. 

"  May  a  blessing  attend  it,  my  Lydia,  for  we  are  penniless !  " 

The  epistle  informed  the  old  gentleman  of  the  death  of  his 
son,  with  a  touching  appeal  to  his  sympathies  in  regard  to  their 
poverty,  and  great  was  the  anxiety  with  which  the  answer  was 
awaited. 

A  day  was  set  for  the  sale  of  the  furniture,  the  proceeds  of 
which  was  all  that  would  remain  to  them.  A  last  look  had 
been  taken  of  those  rooms  peculiarly  dear  to  all,  and  the  doors 
had  been  locked, —  they  would  enter  them  no  more.  They  re- 
paired to  Mrs.  Villiers'  dressing-room,  where  many  arrange- 
ments must  be  made  preparatory  to  their  leaving  that  beloved 
home. 

It  was  past  midnight,  yet  Lottie  was  the  only  one  who  had 
retired.  The  sum  of  wages  due  to  each  domestic,  together 
with  some  little  token  that  the  faithful  services  were  not  forgot- 
ten, had  been  carefully  put  up.  The  morning  dawned,  yet 
found  them  still  busily  occupied  ;  nor  was  it  until  an  hour  be- 
fore the  breakfast  bell,  that  they  sought  repose. 

The  last  breakfast  to  be  taken  there  was  over.  The  servants 
were  summoned,  and  Charles  delivered  the  several  packages; 
then  the  "  good-by  "  was  said  with  many  tears,  and  the  faithful 
group  took  their  departure. 

About  noon,  the  mourners  repaired  to  the  house  of  a  friend  ; 
the  sale  took  place,  and  they  now  awaited  an  answer  from  Prus- 
sia to  decide  what  course  to  pursue. 


76  A    SriXSTER'S    STORY. 

Tt  came  Nol  a  word  was  spoken  as  the  widow  broke  the 
seal  and  unfolded  it.  Cold  and  indifferent,  it  contained  very 
little,  and  the  sum  of  thai  was,  "  STou  can  come  over  here  if 
you  like,  and  if  I  find  you  are  the  rignt  kind  of  children,  I 
might  do  something  for  you." 

It  could  i  »ng  to  decide.     The  best  to  be  done,  was 

'.  and  trust  for  the  rest. 

Accordingly,  the  little  state-room  were  engaged  in  the  good 
ship  "  Wing  of  the  West,"  bound  for  Bremen  ;  and  now  for 
the  last  time,  the  morning  dawned  for  them  in  Philadelphia. 
Many  were  those  who  came  to  say  "good-by;"  and  among 
them  was  one  who  felt  their  loss  most  keenly. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Lydia  to  the  Misses  Danvers,  as  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Anna,  and  leaving  them,  sprung  forward 
to  meel  the  pale,  sorrowful  face  of  her  affectionate  friend. 

"  Oh  Lydia  !    I  cannot  realize  that  you  are  really  going." 

Lydia's  tears  were  the  only  response,  until,  buoying  herself 
up  against  the  despondency,  she  raised  her  head  from  the  shoul- 
der upon  which  it  had  fallen,  and  brushing  away  the  tears,  ex- 
claimed. "Anna,  there  is  no  girl  to  sympathize  as  you  can,  for 
you  know  what  it  is  to  suffer.  And  this  is  the  last  day  I  can 
see  you,  the  last  time  T  shall  hear  you  speak.  You  can  never 
come  where  I  am,  I  must  content  myself  without  you.  Oh, 
Anna  !  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  have  loved  you.  In  many 
things  your  judgment  was  far  superior  to  mine,  and  I  could 
ask  your  opinion,  and  trust  in  your  good  sense ;  and  then  I 
felt  how  much  you  loved  me,  and  knowing  how  lonely  you  were, 
drew  me  still  closer  towards  you  :  and  now  we  must  part." 

"  Girls  !  "  said  Charles,  coming  up  with  Alfred,  "  Here  is 
that  Pyke,  let  us  escape  up  stairs."  He  led  the  way  to  a  bal- 
cony at  the  back  of  the  house,  where  they  could  remain  for  a 
while  undisturbed. 

"  When  shall  we  meet  again  ?  "  said  Lydia,  as  Carlotta  join- 
ed them. 

u  And  where  ?  "  rejoined  Charles.  "  But  that  is  not  for  us 
to  consider  ;  we  cannot  any  of  us  tell  what  the  future  may  be." 

"  Come,  young  ladies,"  said  a  domestic,  "  the  baggage  has 
all  gone,  and  your  mamma  is  ready." 

"  Anna,  you  will  come  with  us  to  the  dock,"  said  Lydia, 
seizing  her  arm,  as  she  was  about  to  enter  the  carriage. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  cannot,"  began  Anna ;  but  Alfred  fairly 
lifted  her  in  without  farther  ceremony,  saying,  "  Susan  can  pre- 
pare the  dinner  for  once,  for  a  change." 

Through  the  busy  streets  they  were  whirled  to  the  greater 


a  spinster's  story.  77 

bustle  of  the  clock,  where  the  honest  face  of  the  captain  wel- 
comed them  on  board  the  "  Wing  of  the  West."  She  was  a 
sailing  vessel,  not  long  launched,  and  to  one  accustomed  to  the 
sea,  must  have  worn  an  inviting  appearance.  But  there  was 
little  time  to  think  of  such  things.  There  were  many  passen- 
gers and  the  deck  was  crowded. 

"All  aboard"  from  the  rough  voice  of  the  captain,  was  a 
signal  for  departure.  A  hasty  "  good-by  "  was  spoken,  and 
friends  parted. 

The  travellers  stood  upon  the  deck,  watching  the  forms  upon 
the  dock  below,  until  they  receded  from  their  view  ;  the  clank- 
ing of  chains,  the  coiling  of  ropes,  and  the  unfurling  of  sails, 
made  them  seek  quiet  in  the  cabin  below.  But  there  all  was 
confusion.  Some  were  still  weeping  at  parting  with  friends 
and  relatives,  children  were  crying  in  spite  of  the  loud  lullabies 
of  their  nurses.  Stewards  and  stewardesses  whirled  to  and  fro, 
often  treading  on  the  very  toes  they  were  trying  most  to  avoid, 
while,  to  complete  the  chaos,  trunks  without  number  were  con- 
stantly wheeled  from  one  end  of  the  saloon  to  the  other.  They 
sought  the  deck  again,  which  they  found  cleared  and  present- 
ing an  appearance  of  good  order.  They  were  now  in  deep 
water,  and  the  land  was  fast  fading  from  their  sight. 

To  Mrs.  Villiers  it  brought  back  the  scene  of  her  estrange- 
ment from  her  native  land  ;  an  orphan,  with  few  to  love  her, 
her  husband  had  been  all  to  her  ;  with  him,  no  trouble,  no  dan- 
ger was  too  great  for  her.  It  seemed  but  yesterday,  that  they 
were  all  in  the  world  to  each  other,  as  they  stood  upon  the 
deck  taking  a  last  look  at  the  land  of  their  birth.  But  now 
he  was  gone  never  more  to  return  to  her.  Yet  there  were 
those  he  had  left  to  bear  his  name,  and  as  she  gazed  upon  them, 
her  regrets  for  the  dead  were  changed  into  sympathies  for  the 
living,  for  here  all  the  energies  of  her  soul  found  a  source,  and 
would  never  cease  to  flow,  stimulating  to  action  as  long  as  life 
remained. 

A  gong  summoned  them  to  tea.  Trunks  had  now  found  a 
destination,  stewards  did  not  stumble  for  old  ladies'  corns  to 
pay  the  penalty  ;  and  children  had  forgotten  their  sorrows  in 
the  fond  arms  of  Morpheus,  while  the  elder  members  of  the 
little  community  found  their  tears  had  ceased  to  flow,  as  the 
sad  adieu  was  for  awhile  forgotten  among  the  surrounding  nov- 
elties. Most  of  the  passengers  retired  early,  and  our  travellers, 
weary  with  fatigue  and  excitement,  followed  their  example,  and 
sought  their  first  night's  repose  upon  the  waters.  Their  vessel 
was  of  clipper  build,  and  with  favorable  winds,  they  expected 


78  A   SPIXSTEUS    STORY. 

to  reach  Bremen  in  four  weeks.  Theirs  was  an  adventurous 
undertaking,  bul  too  weary  to  think,  they  soon  fell  asleep. 

The  brother  and  sister  remained  standing  upon  the  dock,  gaz- 
ing intently  upon  the  gallant  ship,  that  was  passing  out  of  sight, 
they  are  gone  !  "  exclaimed  Anna,  "my  sweet  Lydia, 
I  never  shall  see  you  again!  Oh  Alfred,  if  we  had  never 
known  them  !  " 

"  Come,  Anna,  it's  cold  for  you  here  ;  "  and  drawing  her  arm 
closer  into  his  own,  he  led  the  way  from  the  dock  ;  he  was 
thoughtful  and  unusually  sad,  and  too  weary  to  talk,  they  pur- 
sued their  long,  tedious  journey  homeward. 

"  "Well,  I  must  say,"  began  Susan,  "  it's  a  fine  thing  to  stay 
out  at  your  own  pleasure,  to  see  people  go  Europe  ;  perhaps 
before  long  you  will  have  to  stay  away  from  here  altogether; 
then  you  will  see  how  you  will  relish  that.  Anna,  how  dare 
you  neglect  your  duties  in  this  way,  go  and  take  off  your  bon- 
net, I've  a  hundred  things  for  you  to  do,  and  as  you  choose  to 
stay  away  all  day,  of  course,  no  one  was  going  to  boil  any  rice 
for  you,  so,  as  there's  nothing  for  you  to  eat,  you  can  begin  work 
immediately." 

"  Anna,  I'm  going  out,  for  then  I  may  find  something  to  oc- 
cupy me,  and  make  me  forget  I  am  hungry;"  and  before  she 
could  entreat  him  to  stay  and  rest,  Alfred  had  left  the  house. 

Faint,  weary  and  unhappy  as  she  was,  Anna  managed  to  com- 
plete one  after  another  some  of  the  hundred  things  Susan  spoke 
of  having  in  store  for  her.  First,  several  rooms  must  be  swept 
and  dusted.  Next,  Anna  must  imitate  the  embroidery  of  a 
flounce  that  had  been  borrowed  from  the  region  of  Sally  Pyke. 
Then  Susan  felt  melancholy,  and  would  have  Anna  read  a 
Psalm.  After  which  some  eggs  must  be  p  i  iche  1  for  the  "  good 
man's  tea;  "  and  as  the  time  drew  near  for  his  return,  Anna  was 
sent  out  for  some  of  the  best  French  pomade,  that  she  might 
dress  Susan's  hair.  She  had  come  to  the  last  braid,  hoping  her 
tasks,  for  the  present,  at  an  end,  when  Susan  exclaimed,  "  Anna, 
you  ought  to  go  now  to  Mrs.  Barrow  and  read  to  the  poor  old 
lady,  you  may  be  old  and  blind  some  day  yourself,  especially 
when  her  goo  I  son  is  doing  all  in  his  power  for  Alfred,  you 
ousrht  to  manifest  a  little  gratitude." 

'•  Oh,  but  I  was  there  yesterday  !  "  replied  Anna,  as  she  re- 
called .the  wearisome  hours  she  had  spent  answering  the  old 
lady,  and  the  still  more  trying  evening  in  the  company  of  her 
oddity  of  a  son. 

■•  Well,"  said  Susan,  "  every  other  day  will  do,  so  go  to- 
morrow." 


a  spinster's  ST011Y.  79 

"  We  have  lost  one  of  the  jewels  of  Philadelphia,"  remarked 
Mr.  Everett,  rising  from  his  unfinished  tea;  ''there  arc  few 
young  ladies  to  be  found,  like  Miss  Villiers."  He  said  no  more, 
and  was  soon  shut  once  again  in  the  solitude  of  his  little  study. 
With  difficulty  Anna  carefully  concealed  the  remnant  of  his 
meal,  and  awaited  impatiently  Alfred's  return.  It  was  now 
dark,  yet  there  remained  fifteen  minutes  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  ap- 
pointed time  for  lighting  the  candles,  and  Anna  was  brooding 
in  darkness  when  the  bell  rang.  "  I'm  so  glad  you  are  come  !  " 
exclaimed  she,  opening  the  door. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Anna,"  said  a  low  whining  voice.  "  I  know 
you're  glad  to  see  me." 

Vexed  and  disappointed,  Anna  was  forced  to  take  the  bony, 
trembling  hand  of  the  little  gentleman  she  so  much  disliked, 
and  nothing  but  the  image  of  Alfred  constantly  before  her  en- 
abled her  to  control  her  feelings,  and  treat  him  politely.  The 
umbrella  and  bat  had  at  last  found  a  suitable  resting-place,  (for 
the  little  man  was  often  in  jeopardy  lest  some  mischievous  indi- 
vidual should  play  some  trick  upon  them,)  the  red  and  white 
handkerchiefs  bad  been  used  to  satisfaction,  and  the  snuff-box 
at  last  found  its  way  back  to  the  pocket  again,  when,  bending 
forward,  and  seizing  both  her  hands,  as  he  peered  at  her  through 
the  pebbles  on  his  nose,  he  began  — 

"  Sweet  Anna,  beloved  one,  I've  something  very  important, 

—  I've  come  on  purpose  to  tell  you,  because  I  knew  it  would 
make  you  very  happy,  and  that  is  the  great  object  of  my  life  ; 

—  yes,  Anna  dearest  —  I  mean  it.     Yes,  yes." 

A  fit  of  coughing  prevented  his  proceeding ;  Anna  fetched 
him  some  water,  and  he  at  length  continued, — 

"  Peter  Crookshank  has  left  at  last,  and  Alfred  can  now  have 
the  vacancy,  tell  him  to  come  to-morrow." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  we  are  very  much  obliged." 

Anna  was  struggling  against  the  odious  caresses  of  the  little 
old  man,  when,  to  her  oreat  relief,  the  bell  rans;  a<>;ain,  and  Al- 
fred  entered.  Mr.  Barrow  cast  a  shy  look  at  him,  and  whisper- 
ing to  Anna,  "  You  will  tell  him  all  about  it  yourself,"  took  hat 
and  umbrella,  and  left  the  house. 

Alfred  liked  his  new  occupation,  though  the  salary  was  small 
for  the  first  year,  a  mere  pittance  Susan  said,  and  still  declared 
they  must  turn  out  of  the  house  if  it  were  not  raised  very  soon. 

"  Anna,"  said  Alfred  one  evening  after  he  had  been  sitting 
some  time  in  a  meditative  mood,  "  that  Barrow  comes  now  more 
frequently  than  ever,  and  it  is  not  on  my  account ;  does  he 
think,  I  wonder,  that  you  are  to  be  the  sacrifice  for  his  assisting 
me,  certainly  he  comes  only  to  sec  you." 


80  A  spinster's  story. 

Anna  gazed  at  him  in  all  the  agony  of  a  painful  idea  that 
flashed  suddenly  across  her  mind.  Slie  had  once  had  such  a 
thought  before,  and  now  the  full  force  of  all  the  preceding  hints 
and  suggestions  of  Susan,  came  before  her,  and  in  a  flood  of 
tears  she  exclaimed,  "  Alfred,  what  do  you  mean?  oh,  but  I 
understand  too  well !  Yet  can  you  not  save  me?  Oh  Alfred, 
do  save  me  from  him  ;  I  would  rather  do  anything  —  do  help 
me!" 

"  Anna  dear,  try  not  to  think  of  it  to-night.  You  know  as 
long  as  we  retain  our  reason,  there  is  a  soothing  balm  in  the 
holy  influence  of  prayer.  '  The  Lord  is  very  pitiful,  and  of  ten- 
der mercy. '  And  Anna,  neither  you  nor  I  can  be  so  very  for- 
lorn as  we  might  be,  if  we  were  entirely  alone  in  the  world. 
We  have,  each  other  to  live  for,  at  least ;  and  then  we  have  the 
blessed  promise  '  If  two  of  you  shall  agree  on  earth  as  touching 
anything  that  they  shall  ask,  it  shall  be  done  for  them.'  And 
knowing  this  you  see  we  are  not  so  very  wretched  as  we  might 
be.  Good-night,  love,  and  let  us  try  to  leave  the  future  in  bet- 
ter hands." 

Mr.  Everett  was  ill.  He  desired  to  have  as  few  to  see  him, 
as  possible,  and  gave  no  definite  reason  for  his  indisposition. 
Yet  every  one  was  sorry  except  Susan,  who  now  thought  the 
time  was  come  for  her  to  convince  the  good  man  of  her  abilities 
for  an  excellent  nurse,  which  every  one  must  know  was  very 
requisite  in  a  wife.  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  little  necessa- 
ries had  been  carefully  prepared  by  Anna,  Susan  carried  them 
to  the  invalid,  and  expressed  each  time  the  deepest  regrets  for 
his  illness,  as  she  manifested  the  greater  anxiety  for  his  comfort. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"Them  was  a  wreck  last  night! 
A  wreck?    Then  where'a  the  ship,  the  crew?" 
"  By  ili''  quivering  gleams  of  li\  id  blue 
Her  deck  is  crowded  with  despairing  souls, 
Ami  in  tin'  hollow  pauses  of  the  storm 
w  <•  heard  their  piercing  cj 
Shout  to  tie  in  in  the  pauses  ofthe  storm, 
And  tell  them  there  is  hop< — 
And  let  onr  deep-toned  bell  its  loudest  peal 
Send  cheerly  o'er  the  deep  — 
'Twill  be  a  comfort  to  the  wretched  souls 
In  their  extremity  —  all  things  are  po 

Fresh  hope  may  give  them  strength,  and  strength  deliverance. 
"  It  is  ton  late  ; 
o  o  o  o  o  o 

No  help  of  human  hand  can  reach  them  thero  — 
One  hour  will  hush  their  cries  — -and  by  the  morn 
Thou  wilt  behold  the  ruin —  wreck  and  corse 
Float  on  the  weltering  wave." 

Having  recovered  from  sea-sickness,  Lydia  made  out  a  sched- 
ule for  the  disposal  of  her  time.  As  yet,  she  found  but  little 
diversion  in  her  own  thoughts,  and  she  could  not  remain  un- 
occupied. As  to  Charles,  he  intended,  hevsaid,  to  act  just  as 
the  spirit  moved  him,  which  was  part  of  the  day  in  teasing  Lot- 
tie, often  mourning  the  loss  of  his  poor,  dear  father,  ami  the 
remainder,  in  wondering  what  sort  of  an  old  gentleman  his 
grandfather  was — whether  gouty  and  crabby,  or  indulgent  and 
kind.  Mrs.  Villiers'  health  continued  very  indifferent,  but  the 
mornings  were  fine,  and  the  sea  breeze  began  to  invigorate  her. 
For  herself,  life  seemed  to  have  lost  its  charm,  yet  for  those 
left  to  her,  she  often  entertained  brilliant  hopes  ;  still  her  anx- 
ious fears,  lest  they  might  not  meet  with  success  and  be  drifted 
upon  the  world  by  the  cold  blasts  of  poverty  unprotected,  would 
occasionally  haunt  her  ;  but  not  wishing  to  throw  a  gloom  over 
them,  she  would  often  complain  of  some  slight  indisposition, 
that  she  might  shed  her  tears  in  secret,  and  in  her  cabin  alone, 
act  the  part  of  the  miser  in  her  sufferings. 

i  The  passengers  numbered  about  thirty,  all  were  now  suffi- 
ciently acquainted,  to  form,  for  the  time  being,  a  social  circle. 
It  was  June,  and  the  mornings  were  generally  spent  on  deck, 
when  the  ladies  who  had  recovered  from  sea-sickness  were  oc- 
cupied in  sewing,  while  some  accommodating  gent  read  aloud, 
until  eight  bells  were  struck, —  the  signal  for  dinner  ;  after  which, 
the  indisposed,  or  more  often  the  indolent,  sought  the  couches 
below,  and  this  was  the  time  our  young  friends  took  for  their 
4* 


82  A    SPINSTER'S    STORY. 

own  readings  and  study.  The  calm  pleasant  evenings  brought 
all  on  deck  again,  where  they  danced,  sung,  and  joined  in  va- 
rious  games,  in  which  even  the  closes!  followers  of  etiquette 
could  not  refuse  to  participate,  So  that  in  general,  the  time 
passed  pleasantly,  except  once  now  and  then,  when  some  fidgety 
old  maid,  or  a  quizzical  old  bachelor  made  them  remember  it 
requires  a  mixture  to  make  a  worlds  and  that  oddities  may  as 
well  constitute  one  ingredient.  The  Sundays  were  observed  in 
order  and  quiet  by  the  crew,  as  no  duty  was  done  by  them,  ex- 
cept thai  which neces  itydemanded,  and  Mrs.  Villiers  neverfailed, 
when  the  weather  permitted,  to  gather  her  children  round  her, 
while  they  passed  the  morning  in  the  use  of  their  church  service. 

It  was  twilight  on  the  ocean  ;  in  an  obscure  part  of  the  deck, 
apart  from  the  rest,  sat  Lydia.  The  face,  as  it  wore  the  traces 
of  tears,  was  expressively  beautiful;  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  horizon,  from  which  the  gorgeous  sunset  was  fast  disappear- 
ing. But  the  tearful  eyes  were  not  contemplating  those  rich 
tints  gilding  the  heavens  —  her  thoughts  were  upon  a  sadder 
theme.  With  what  different  prospects  had  she  thought  to  have 
crossed  that  ocean  !  and  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  her  robe  of  mourn- 
ing, and  she  remembered  for  whom  she  wore  it,  life  seemed 
for  the  moment,  only  a  burden.  The  moon  had  risen,  and  was 
casting  its  beams  of  peace  on  the  rippling  waters,  as  a  light 
footstep  approached  and  a  musical  voice  said, — 

"Why,  Lydia,  quite  alone?  Come  and  watch  with  me  the 
crystal  foam,  as  it  sparkles  in  the  moonlight." 

Lottie's  face  was  the  picture  of  animation,  and  the  full  blue 
eyes  gazing  intently  upon  the  tearful  countenance,  as  the  flaxen 
tresses  waving  over  the  simple  black  dress,  contrasted  with  that 
dark  robe,  and  added  a  charm  to  the  gentle  entreaties,  and  put- 
ting her  arm  round  the  slender  form,  Lydia  suffered  herself  to 
be  led  to-  the  side  of  the  deck,  where,  looking  over,  they  could 
watch  with  what  rapidity  their  gallant  vessel  was  sailing  over 
the  deep  blue  waters. 

"  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  it,"  said  some  one  behind  them  in 
a  sharp',  hurried  tone.  They  turned,  and  saw  the  captain  and 
several  gentlemen  looking  earnestly  at  a  cloud  not  far  in  the 
distance. 

"  We  may  as  well  make  up  our  minds  to  have  a  bad  night 
of  it.'"  rejoined  a  companion. 

"  Oh,  Lydia,  do  watch  this  wave.  See  !  here  it  comes.  Was 
ever  anything  more  beautiful !  " 

"  Listen,  Lottie  love  !  "  and  she  drew  her  sister  from  her  ob- 
iect,  to  contemplate  the  group  before  them. 


A    S!\  «  -  i  ..:;"  ■     I  .    >KY.  3 

"Yes,  captain,  depend  upon  ii,  we  shall  have  a  storm." 
'"Why,  girls,"  said   Charles,  coming   up   to   them  suddenly, 
"  I've  been  looking  for  you,  come  down  now,  it  begin 

a  gale,  and   they  arc    going   to  '  about  ship,'  and   the   deck  will 
he  no  plaee  for  ladies." 

They  joined  their  mother  in  the  cabin,  and  had  just  an. 
their  several  occupations  for  the  evening,  when   their 
was  directed  to  the  noise  above.     The  vessel  soon   be. 
"  pitch  and  roll  "  tremendously,  while    the  rough   voices  of  the 
crew  told   the  deck   was   a   scene   of  busy  work.      For   a    ti 
there  would  be  a  lull,  then  came  again,  as  a   mighty  avalan  be, 
that  world  of    waters,   when  every   mast  creaked    afresh,    and 
every  timber   seemed  shaken,  while   the   lamp   above  them   lay 
parallel  with   the  ceiling  from  which   it  was  suspended,  proving 
the  vessel   to  be   upon  her  side.     As   in  similar  situations  of 
danger,  many  ladies  found  their  only  resource   in    pouring  forth 
the  most  prodigious  screams,  until'  the  courage  of  the  bravest 
was  shaken  amid  the  groans  and  cries  of  those  around  them. 

"  Ladies,  you  had  better  go  to  your  berths,  and  we  will  fast- 
en you  in  your  beds  ;  "  said  the  composed  voice  of  the  black 
stewardess,  as  with  no  small  degree  of  nonchalance,  she  proceed- 
ed to  put  her  words  into  operation  upon  all  who  were  not  in- 
clined to  oppose  her. 

There  is  much  satisfaction  in  knowing  the  extent  of  danger, 
.  yet  those  upon  the  deck  could  draw  little  hope  as  they  saw  their 
ship  tossed  upon  the  billows,  until  she  dipped  her  top  sail  in  the 
dark  waters. 

There  was  a  lull  for  a  few  hours,  after  which  the  rolling 
again  created  fresh  fears,  as  the  thunder  pealed  tremendously 
and  the  storm  fell  in  torrents  that  threatened  to  remove  the  deck. 
Down  rushed  the  mighty  weight  of  salt  waters  into  the  saloon. 

"  We  are  going  down  !  Oh  God,  have  mercy,  we  are  fast 
sinking  !  "  The  rushing  ceased  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  an 
interval  for  prayer.  Then  — » an  awful  crash  !  and  for  a  time 
all  other  sounds  were  drowned  in  the  deafening  thunder  of  some 
mysterious  weight  falling,  with  a  tremendous  force,  across  the 
deck. 

"  Lord  save  us,  we  perish  !  "  cried  many. 

Again  struggled  the  distressed  vessel  with  those  mighty  powers 
of  the  elements,  and  again  rolled  o'er  the  ocean,  the  last,  the 
only  hope  —  the  minute  gun.       * 

There  was  all  the  terror  of  an  untimely  death  !  But  a  little 
while,  and  they  must  stand  before  the  great  Tribunal  to  ive  an 
account  of  the  deeds  done  in  the  body.     What  then  were  the 


84  a   spinster's   SToKV. 

treasures  of  earth,  the  glitter  of  wealth,  the  illustrations  of  hon- 
or, the  glory  of  fame  '.'  and  what  would  not  now  be  given  for 
one  other  breath,  one  more  second,  to  plead  for  mercy  'i 

"  Lydia,  where  are  you?"  At  the  farthest  end  of  the  sa- 
loon, upon  the  floor,  sat  Mrs.  Villiers.  One  arm  clasped  a  beam, 
while  the  other  supported  the  form  of  Lottie,  upon  whose  pale 
countenance,  when  the  glimmering  lamp  light  fell  upon  its  horror- 
stricken  features,  seemed  to  rest  the  hue  of  death.  By  her  side 
sat  Charles,  repeating  in  a  low  tone,  the  petition,  "  Oh  most 
glorious  ami  gracious  Lord  God,  who  dwellest  in  Heaven,  but 
beholdest  all  things  below,  look  down,  we  beseech  thee,  and 
hear  us,  calling  out  of  the  depth  of  misery,  and  out  of  the  jaws 
of  this  death,  which  is  now  ready  to  swallow  us  up.  Save,  Lord, 
or  else  we  perish.  The  living,  the  living  shall  praise  thee.  0 
send  Thy  word  of  command  to  rebuke  the  raging  winds  and  the 
roaring  sea ;  that  we  being  delivered  from  this  distress,  may 
live  to  serve  Thee,  and  to  glorify  Thy  name  all  the  days  of  our 
life.  Hear,  Lord,  and  save  us,  for  the  infinite  merits  of  our 
blessed  Saviour,  Thy  Son,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ !  "  Lost  as 
the  words  generally  were,  still  ever  and  anon  would  fall  upon 
some  ear,  as  a  surviving  hope  in  the  hour  of  anguish,  a  broken 
fragment  of  the  supplication. 

"  Oh,  where  is  Lydia  !  My  beloved  child,  come  and  die  with 
us,  let  us  not  be  parted  in  death  !  Speak  to  me,  Lydia  !  or  have 
you  perished  !  " 

At  last  a  faint  voice  exclaimed,  "Mother,  I  am  here  —  I 
cannot  get  to  you. 

The  tossing  became  less  intense,  and  by  means  of  the  fixtures, 
Charles  was  enabled  to  crawl  by  degrees  to  where  Lydia  was. 
During  nearly  the  whole  of  the  storm,  she  had  supported  her- 
self by  one  of  the  stanchions,  from  which  she  hung  suspended 
until  the  weary  limbs  were  exhausted,  and  she  was  thrown  upon 
the  opposite  side  of  the  saloon.  She  was  insensible  from  the 
fall,  and  Charles,  as  he  endeavored  to  lift  the  prostrated  form, 
was  chilled  by  the  icy  coldness,  and  suddenly  struck  by  the 
persuasion  that  be  clasped  a  lifeless  body. 

The  night  was  past,  and  the  pale  grey  dawn  now  stole  in 
upon  the  sufferers.  By  degrees  the  vessel  righted  herself,  the 
wind  lulled,  the  lurching  ceased. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  the  danger  is  over,"  cried  one. 

The  exclamations  of  thanksgiving  were  scarcely  uttered,  when 
the  door  that  had  been  fastened  upon  them  was  suddenly  opened, 
and  the  captain's  voice  cried  "  The  ship  has  sprung  a  leak,  we 
are  going  to  the  bottom  !  " 


a  spinster's  story.  85 

In  vain  was  the  steady  lookout  at  the  mast  head  ;  do  Bail 
gladdened  the  horizon;  and  now  as  the  death  knell,  sounded 
the  firing  of  the  minute  gun. 

Lydia  awoke  to  the  danger  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  painful  limbs 
would  allow,  with  the  aid  of  Charles  she  joined  their  mother, 
and  Lottie.  There  are  terrors  not  to  be  told,  horrors  only  to 
be  felt;  and  these,  in  all  their  appalling  vividness,  seized  the 
suffering  souls  of  the  "  Wing  of  the  West;  "  yet,  although  un- 
able to  form  words  into  prayer,  many  a  heart  was  uplifted  to 
the  Mercy  Seat,  where  dwelloth  the  Omnipotent,  mighty  to  save  ! 

"  The  leak  has  been  found  !  "  exclaimed  a  man,  rushing  into 
the  saloon,  "  soon  it  will  be  stopped,  and  we  are  safe  !  " 

The  fastenings  which  had  prevented  all  access  to  the  deck, 
were  now  removed,  and  the  doors  and  hatchways  thrown  open. 
Before  long  the  leak  was  pronounced  effectually  stopped,  all 
danger  was  over,  and  the  minute  gun  was  heard  no  more.  In 
order  to  right  the  vessel,  the  main  mast  had  been  cut  away,  the 
falling  of  which  caused  the  crash  that  had  created  so  much  dread  ; 
and  from  the  loss  of  her  rigging,  the  once  noble  ship  presented 
the  appearance  of  a  complete  wreck.  Still  the  wind  was  in 
their  favor,  and  they  were  now  in  a  direct  line  for  Bremen. 

Now  many  began  to  tell  of  their  fears,  their  sufferings  from 
starvation,  and  every  other  real  and  fanciful  apprehension  that 
had  taken  possession  of  the  soul.  The  danger  was  past,  many 
chatted  freely,  and  the  storm  was  already  only  —  a  tale  to  be 
told. 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  let  us  so  soon  forget  the  mercy  of  our  deliver- 
ance," exclaimed  Charles,  as  he  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  group 
upon  the  deck,  and  turned  towards  them  with  much  earnestness  ; 
"Let  us  return  to  the  cabin,  and  offer  up  a  thanksgiving; 
we  are  not  yet  at  Bremen,  and  none  can  tell  what  storms  are 
awaiting  us  before  we  reach  our  destined  harbor." 

All  gazed  in  surprise  upon  the  youth,  in  whose  countenance 
glowed  the  zeal  which  constrained  his  earnest  appeal.  The  in- 
fluence of  his  words  was  felt  by  many,  who  now  left  the  deck, 
and  followed  him  below:  the  force  of  example  had  its  sway,  and 
soon  the  remainder  had  deserted  the  deck,  and  joined  their  com- 
panions, where,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  who  remained  on 
duty,  the  whole  ship's  company  were  assembled.  In  the  midst 
of  them,  standing  upon  a  seat,  was  Charles.  The  breathless 
stillness  was  broken  by  him  as  he  began  the  solemn  service. 
Having  read  the  Psalms  for  thanksgiving  after  a  storm,  in  which 
the  rest  followed,  every  knee  was  bent,  as  their  young  leader, 
in  a  clear,  firm  voice,  offered  the  fervent  petition  in  the  beau- 


86  a  .-ri.wi -i.k's  stoky. 

fciful  prayers  appointed  for  that  service.  Then,  "  Our  Father," 
in  which  the  children's  voices  were  united,  arose  from  every  lip, 
and  having  sung  a  hymn  and  received  the  benediction,  the  little 
congregation  dispersed.  There  might  have  been  those  regard* 
less  of  all  religion,  yet  there  is  often,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  a 
silent  influence,  irresistible,  that  will  steal  over  the  soul,  and 
find  amid  its  thorny,  rugged  surface,  some  resting-place  whereon 
to  leave  its  efficacious,  its  lasting  impression. 

It  was  now  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  many  began  to  recol- 
lect dinner  had  not  been  served,  and  grew  impatient  as  they 
expressed  that  they  were  hungry. 

"  Just  think  of  those  poor  sailors,"  exclaimed  Charles  ;  "  who 
have  been  hard  at  work  for  our  preservation  for  nearly  four  and 
twenty  hours,  without  tasting  food,  and  with  a  teetotaler  for  a 
captain  !  " 

The  hint  was  well  received  by  more  than  a  few,  and  notwith- 
standing their  captain  loved  his  dollars  more  than  he  did  his 
gallant  crew,  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  send  to  the  forecastle,  a 
somewhat  more  inviting  repast  than  their  usual  hard  fare. 

The  meal  was  nearly  over  in  the  saloon,  and  all  talked  of 
retiring  early,  when  a  door  was  hastily  thrown  back,  and  a 
voice  exclaimed,  "  A  ship  in  distress  !  "  They  listened  for  fur- 
ther intelligence,  and  the  firing  of  a  distant  minute  gun  fell 
with  its  weight  of  melancholy  upon  the  ear.  "  Oh,  can  we 
not  help  them?"  and  many  rushed  upon  the  deck.  But  no 
sail,  no  speck  relieved  the  expanse  of  water ;  yet  the  firing 
continued,  although  the  vessel  was  not  to  be  seen.  "  Bear 
down  to  them  !  "  was  the  universal  cry,  and  ere  long  the  "  Wing 
of  the  West  "  had  changed  her  course,  and  was  fast  "  making  " 
for  the  direction  of  the  sound. 

"  Ship  on  the  starboard  side  !  "  from  the  lookout  at  the  fore- 
top-sail-yard."  Eagerly  did  every  eye  follow  the  direction: 
first  a  single  spar,  then  a  hull  was  visible.  As  they  drew  nearer 
she  appeared  to  be  a  bark,  but  presented  every  indication  of  a 
complete  wreck.  Two  of  the  masts  had  been  partly  cut  down, 
in  order,  probably,  that  the  sufferers  might  cling  to  these  and 
float,  when  their  vessel  went  down  ;  yet  this  work  was  but  half 
completed,  and  the  firing  of  the  minute  gun,  from  the  failure  of 
strength  to  load  it,  as  it  was  supposed,  had  ceased.  The  rem- 
nant of  a  flag  was  at  half-mast,  but  so  rent  into  shreds  that  it 
was  impossible  to  discover  to  what  nation  she  belonged.  Near- 
er and  nearer,  and  now  the  anxious  watchers  could  discern  the 
many  forms  clinging  to  the  wreck.  The  wind  was  high,  a 
heavy  sea  was  running,  and  the  mountain  billows  often  hid  her 
from  their  craze. 


A    SFJLXSTJStt  S    BTO  !   7 

"Take  care,  Lydia',  or  you  will  fall,  it  is  impossible  to  stand 
unsupported!"  Charles  went  to  where  she  was  standing,  and 
putting  his  arm  around  her,  continued,  "  now  I  can  hold  you. 
But  you  do  not  want  to  look  ?  —  so  very  awful  !  " 

"  Oh  !  I  cannot  take  my  eyes  from  it!  " 

"  Lydia,  they  will  perish  !  Oh  Heaven  !  spare  them  until 
we  can  reach  them  !  " 

"No  easy  matter,1 '  replied  the  captain ;  and  turning  to  an 
officer  lie  gave  the  order  to  "  about  ship." 

"  "What,  turn  away  from  her  ?  Oh,  captain,  you  cannot  sure- 
ly —  for  pity's  sake  you  will  rescue  them  !  " 

"  A  sinking  ship  is  no  small  hazard." 

''  But  they  have  seen  us  ;  and  what  must  their  disappoint- 
ment be  to  see  us  turning  away;"  cried  Lydia,  as  her  tears  fell 
fast  upon  the  coat-sleeve  of  the  captain,  which  she  grasped  tight- 
ly in  her  distress. 

"  Oh  save  them,  save  them  !  "  from  every  quarter  of  the  deck. 
The  wreck  had  sunk  from  their  sight.  She  rose.  Again  the 
billows  covered  her,  and  naught  remained  whereon  to  rest  the 
aching  eye,  but  that  vast  expanse  of  mighty  waters. 

"  Charles,  let  me  have  that  glass,"  said  Lydia,  as  she  turned 
to  him  the  countenance  of  despair. 

''  Lydia,  if  you  are  not  more  careful,  you  will  be  overboard." 
Her  mantle  was  partly  blown  off,  her  hair  had  fallen  from  its 
confines,  and  the  flowing  tresses  were  waving  at  the  will  of  the 
wind,  as  she  stood  ready  to  dart  forward,  exclaiming,  "  can 
nothing  be  done  'I     Oh,  have  mercy  !  " 

Many  of  the  noble  crew  came  forward,  and  entreated  to  be 
allowed  to  man  a  boat  to  the  wreck.  The  captain  appeared 
staggered  for  a  moment  by  their  earnest  appeal,  then  answered 
decidedly  "I  cannot  afford  to  lose  you,  my  brave  men,  no,  no," 
and  turning  to  the  passengers  as  he  saw  the  scorn,  anger  and 
despair  visible  on  every  countenance,  he  continued.  "  If  we 
value  our  own  lives  we  must  keep  aloof  from  that  sinking  ship, 
as  she  goes  down  ;  think  of  the  whirlpool  she  will  make,  anil 
should  we  approach  her  now,  she  would  draw  us  into  the  awful 
vortex." 
1      "  Then  throw  ropes  to  them." 

"  What,  at  a  distance  of  two  miles  ?  " 

"  See  !  they  rise  again.  Look,  how  many  are  on  her  deck 
now !  Oh,  there  they  are,  kneeling,  with  their  hands  uplifted  to 
heaven.  Oh,  Father,  have  mercy  !  Spare  those  precious  souls 
for  thy  Son's  sake!  Oh,  we  are  near,  but  cannot  reach  —  they 
see  us,  but  we  do  not  help  them  !     Oh,  merciful  God,  save  ere 


88  a  spinster's  story. 

they    perish!"     It   rolled    tremendously ;' then   righted;  was 
tossed  again,  then  lost  to  their  view. 

"  Oh,  they  are  gone  !  we  shall  see  them  no  more  !  Do,  Cap- 
tain, let  as  linger  bere  a  little  while!"  \ 

But  in>  ;  freight  was  now  higher  than  ever;  should  he  delay 
an  hour,  upon  reaching  port  he  might  find  it  down.  The 
"  "Wine  of  the  West  "  must  continue  in  her  course,  leaving  the 
sinking  ship  to  her  unhappy  fate. 

Again,  and  for  the  bast  time,  she  rose.  Higher  bounded  the 
billows,  as  more  violently  the  wild  waves  lashed  the  shattered 
hull,  leaving  the  masses  of  foam  dancing  triumphantly  round 
the  ruin  they  had  wrought.  Lower  and  lower,  and  now  only 
the  deck  was  visible.  In  vain  did  they  look  for  some  boat, 
some  floating  raft,  plank,  or  spar,  but  none  could  be  descried ; 
only  to  the  wreck,  clung  those  despairing  souls. 

"Is  no  aid  in  our  power  ?  oh,  awful  scene  !  " 

Once  her  bows  were  raised  in  mid -air  :  then  the  immense 
waves  met  as  they  dashed  over  her  deck.  The  mighty  rushing 
of  the  engulfing  waters  drowned  the  cries  as  they  ascended  to 
Heaven.  A  roll  —  an  awful  plunge  —  and  all  was  over  !  She 
was  seen  no  more  ! 

"  But  the  bodies  will  rise  !  "  cried  Lydia.  She  turned  to 
the  deck,  it  was  deserted  ;  nearly  all  had  gone  to  their  cabins, 
to  weep  over  the  sad  catastrophe.  She  heard  lamentations  near 
her,  and  looking  round  found  they  proceeded  from  the  man  at 
the  wheel. 

"  Oh  it  was  so  awful  not  to  help  them  !  "  and  her  tears 
flowed  afresh  as  she  beheld  the  grief  of  the  weather  beaten  tar. 

Ah  !  Miss,  if  I'd  not  signed  articles  to  obey  orders,  you'd 
not  find  me  here  shedding  useless  tears  on  the  deck,  when  I'm 
a  good  mind  to  jump  overboard." 

''  But  I  have  signed  no  articles,  and  no  captain  can  detain 
me,"  said  Charles,  rushing  forward,  followed  by  a  group  of 
gentlemen. 

"  Who  is  willing  to  assist  nie  ?     Here  is  a  good  life-boat  !  " 

"  Charles,  what  do  you  mean  ? 

"Lydia,  don't  hold  me.  Would  you  not  have  me  pickup 
some  of  those  bodies  ?     Say,  gentlemen,  who  will  join  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  leave  my  wife,"  "  There's  such  a  heavy  sea," 
"  I  don't  know  how  to  swim,"  came  the  several  response 

"  Here,  here!  I  will  go,"  said  a  young  man,  and  turning 
to  a  companion,  he  added,  "  I'll  leave  my  things  with  you.  If 
you  hear  no  more  of  me,  write  and  tell  my  sister,  that  she  may 
know  George  Taylor  was  not  found  wanting  in  this  act  of  human- 
ity.    Now  I'm  ready.     Where's  the  boat  ?  " 


a  spinster's  story.  89 

"  Here  she  is,"  answered  Charles,"  just  look  to  that  davit 
That's  right,  thank  you." 

''Oh  Charles,  Charles!"  cried  Lydia,  clinging  to  him. 
"  Think  of  poor  mother  !  Do  you  love  her,  do  you  love  Lydia, 
do  you  care  for  Lottie  ?  " 

The  group  around  them  had  greatly  increased.  In  their 
midst  stood  the  captain,  sullen  and  silent. 

"  Wait  one  second,"  said  Charles,  "  I'll  go  below  to  my 
mother.  No  !  Lydia,  kiss  her  for  me.  Good-by  !  "  and  tearing 
himself  from  her  clasp,  joined  his  brave  companion  in  the  boat, 
which  was  lowered  amid  many  entreaties  to  return,  and  loud 
shouts  in  honor  of  their  noble  effort,  spurring  them  on,  whilo 
many  a  prayer  was  offered  that  the  blessing  of  God  might  ac- 
company them. 

"  Here  are  some  provisions,"  said  an  officer. 

"  Give  me  the  bag,"  said  a  stout  young  man,  coming  forward 
He  seized  it,  and  lowered  himself  into  the  boat,  saying,  "  If  I 
perish,  I  shan't  be  missed." 

"  Oh,  come  back,  no  boat  could   live  in  such  a  sea  !  "  arose 
from  the  deck,  as  they  saw  the  skiff  tossed  as  a  feather  upon 
that  tremendous  swell  of  mighty  waters,  and  with  what  difficulty 
the  oars  were  plied,  as  they  were  fast  carried  away  on  the  lone 
ly  deep. 

After  the  wreck  had  sunk,  Mrs.  Villiers,  weary  with  fatigue 
and  anxiety,  had  retired  with  Lottie,  and  they  had  wept  them- 
selves to  sleep.  With  an  electric  rapidity,  the  intelligence  of 
the  hazardous  undertaking  had  spread  from  cabin  to  cabin  ;  but 
so  prompt  had  been  the  preparations,  that  by  the  time  the 
good  mother  had  fully  awakened  to  her  distress,  her  beloved 
Charles  was  far  away.  Although  she  had  not  complained  she 
had  suffered  from  illness  some  days,  and  now  overcome,  sunk 
fainting,  upon  her  pillow. 

Lydia  refused  to  be  comforted.  She  remained  upon  the  deck, 
her  arms  extended  towards  the  boat  that  was  now  only  a  speck 
in  the  distance.  *'  Oh,  Charles,  come  back  !  night  is  coming 
on  —  return,  or  you  perish  in  the  dark  waters  !  Oh,  come  back 
to  us  ! 
,  So  vehement  had  been  the  exclamations  against  the  captain, 
when  it  was  found  he  would  continue  in  his  course,  that,  had  he 
feared  a  mutiny,  he  could  scarcely  have  yielded  more  submis- 
sively. Sail  was  taken  in,  and  the  vessel  made  to  "  tack," 
The  sky  lowered  ;  soon  the  rain  fell ;  only  a  few  remained  on 
deck  with  the  distressed  Lydia,  who,  wild  in  her  despair,  con- 
tinued to  kneel,  clinging  to  the  bulwarks  in  an  agony  of  grief, 


90  \  spinster's  story 

exclaiming,   "Oh.  why  did  you  let  them  goV     Tell  me,  can 
it  again  ''.     Ob,  he  is  gone  !  poor  mamma  !  " 
••  Miss  Villiers,  youwill  take  your  death  here,"  said  the  stew- 

--.  wrapping  the  mantle  round  the  trembling  form. 
"  But  my  mother  ;  1  cannot  comfort  her,  what  can  I  Jo  for 

•■  hi'! 1.  Mi-s,  she  hears  it  very  well.     She  has  revived  now, 

and  said  calmly  '  < to  1  grant  he  may  save  some  fellow  creature 
from  a  watery  grave.     Thy  will,  oh  Lord,  be  done  !  '  : 

"  Dear,  good  mother  !  I'll  go  to  her.  But  listen  !  "  Near 
the  hatchway  stood  two  gentlemen  ;  one  was  speaking  in  a  dole- 
ful tone;  "It  was  evident,"  continued  he,  "they  had  been 
without  food  and  perhaps  water  too,  for  some  time,  and  when 
we  saw  them,  they  were  in  a  state  of  exhaustion,  having  thrown 
everything  overboard  to  lighten  the  vessel.     I  shall  never  forget 

the  sight." 

Lydia's  thoughts  wandered  again  to  the  wreck,  and  casting 
one  more  look  at  the  little  black  speck  on  the  horizon,  which 
she  trusted  still  contained  in  safety  the  beloved  Charles  and  his 
noble  companions,  she  suffered  herself  to  be  led  from  the  deck, 
to  mingle  her  tears  with  those  of  her  afflicted  mother,  and  the 
sorrowing  little  sister. 

It  was  night-fall.  All  seemed  to  have  retired.  Everything 
was  still,  save  the  rain  that  continued  to  patter  upon  the  deck. 
The  evening  lessons  had  been  read,  and  the  fervent  petition 
offered,  when  nature  demanded  repose  ;  and  the  afflicted  mourn- 
ers were  prevailed  upon  to  seek  rest,  as  a  good  lookout  would  be 
kept,  and  they  awakened  should  there  be  any  tidings.  Few 
slept ;  those  whose  thoughts  were  not  disturbed  by  a  recollection 
of  the  wreck,  were  long  kept  awake  by  the  lamentations  of  the 
afflicted  family,  as  ever  and  anon  they  broke  the  stillness  of  the 
night.  Seven  bells  were  struck,  demiting  it  remained  but  a 
half  hour  of  midnight.  Lydia  raised  herself,  and  looking 
round,  saw  she  was  the  only  one  in  the  cabin  not  asleep.  No 
sound,  except  the  regular  tread  of  the  officer  on  the  watch,  fell 
upon  the  ear.  It  occurred  to  Lydia,  that  the  rain  might  have 
id,  and  that  the  stars  twinkled  brightly  over  a  calm  oceau. 
She  rose  to  the  port  hole,  naught  there,  but  the  thick  darkness, 
except  where  the  masses  of  white  foam  danced  upon  the  black 
waters.      With   a   1;  .  she  threw   herself  again   on  her 

pillow  ;  a  sudden  cry,  as  though  from  one  aloft,  made  her  start; 
hastily  throwing  some  clothing  round  her,  she  ascended  to  the 
deck.  A  drizzling  rain  was  still  falling,  and  a  fog  was  rising. 
The  lamps  in  the  rigging  flickered  in  the  obscurity  that  seemed 


a  spinster's  stoey.  91 

to  grow  more  dense  as  she  contemplated  it.  She  groped  her 
way  to  the  wheel-house.  This  time,  an  old  man  with  silvery 
locks  held  tin-  wheel.  His  countenance  was  very  sad,  and  Ly- 
dia  was  touched  by  the  expression  of  toil  and  hardships,  seated 
there. 

"You  seem  very  tired,  sir,"  said  she,  leaning  towards  him. 
"  Yes,  Miss,  none  of  my  watch  have  eaten  or  slept  since  that 
awful  sight." 

"  Do  you  think  we  shall  have  another  storm?  " 
"  Here  comes  an  officer,  ma'am ;  we're  not  allowed  to  talk  at 
the  wheel." 

She  had  reached  the  steps,  when  two  gentlemen  appeared  at 
the  hateh-way  to  look  at  the  night. 

"  I  came  to  pass  my  opinion  upon  the  weather,"  said  one. 
"  I  will  stay  and  hear  what  it  is,"  thought  Lydia,  stepping 
back. 

"  What  a  night !  "  continued  the  speaker,  "  and  those  brave 
young  fellows,  of  course  they  have  perished  long  before  this  !  " 
"  They  each  wore  a  life-presesver,"  interposed  his  compan- 
ion. 

"  What  of  that  ?  I  watched  the  boat  through  my  glass,  as 
long  as  it  could  be  seen,  and  am  positive  I  saw  it  upset;  but 
I  couldn't  speak  of  it,  for  I  feel  very  sony  for  that  widow  lady, 
although  I've  no  patience  with  such  fool-hardy,  rash  adventurers 
as  those  young  chaps  ;  however,  they're  all  at  the  bottom  by 
this  time,  without  doubt." 

"Hallo!  What  noise  was  that?  A  sailor  has  fallen  from 
the  rigging,  surely.  No,  there's  a  woman's  clothes ;  —  what 
can  it  be  ?  come  and  see  !  " 

They  approached  it ;  lifted  it ;  carried  it  to  a  light,  the  blood 
fresh  and  warm  was  flowing  over  the  face  and  neck.  The 
stewardess  was  called,  the  wounded  head  and  face  bathed,  when 
they  recognised  in  the  livid  features,  those  of  Lydia. 

"  Don't  frighten  Mrs.  Villiers,  Miss  Lydia  has  only  fainted." 
"  Oh  see,  she  will  not  revive  !     Sweet  girl,  you  are  dying  : 
and  so  good,  so  beautiful !  " 

A  lady  rushed  into  the  saloon ;  her  face  white  as  the  night- 
clothes  that  enshrouded  her,  as  clasping  the  icy  form,  she  cried 
in  her  anguish,  "  Oh  Lydia,  am  I  also  to  lose  thee,  my  own 
sweet  child  ?  oh  Father,  in  pity  spare  her,  take  her  not  from  me, 
in  this  hour  of  trial  !  " 

"  Don't  clasp  her  so,  give  her  air ;  see,  she  moves  !  What 
does  she  say?  I  thought  she  was  speaking.  Yes;  listen!" 
The  voice  was  very  faint,  yet  the  words  were  audible.     "  See, 


92  a  spinster's  story. 

he  straggles  —  throw  him  a  rope  —  oh,  do  try  to  save  him." 
The  hand  was  dropped,  and  again  Bhe  lay  motionless.  Rcstora- 
lives  were  administered,  the  physician  called,  BtUl  she  showed 
no  signs  of  life.     A  steady  rain  contained,  although  there  was 

mi  regular  Storm.  The  fog  began  to  clear  away,  and  morning 
broke  upon  the  watchers  round  the  couch  of  the  favorite  Lydia. 

"Oh,  Doctor,  do  not  deceive  me  ;  tell  me,  does  she  still  live, 
or  has  the  spirit  already  taken  its  flight  7  " 

A  glass  was  brought :  all  stood  breathless  in  the  general  anx- 
iety. After  holding  it  to  the  colorless  lips,  there  was  an  indi- 
cation of  breathing  upon  it;  it  was  sufficient  —  life  remained. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  Lydia  awoke  to  consciousness  ;  and 
they  discovered  she  must  have  fallen  against  an  iron  baluster, 
as  she  had  received  a  deep  wound.  A  lady  had  read  to  them  a 
few  of  the  most  comforting  passages,  still  Lydia  seemed  greatly 
distressed,  and  it  was  not  until  the  afflicted  mother  had  knelt 
and  prayed  with  the  sorrowing  girl,  that  she  appeared  relieved  : 
and  the  parent's  prayer  was  too  earnest,  too  fervent  a  petition, 
not  to  calm  the  excited  girl,  as  she  supplicated  for  a  spirit  of 
resignation,  to  sustain  them  under  every  difficulty,  support  in 
y  trial,  believing,  "  That  no  man  should  be  moved  by  these 
afflictions,"  because  "  we  are  appointed  thereunto."  For  "  our 
light  affliction  which  is  but  for  a  moment,  worketh  for  us  a  far 
more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory." 

In  the  afternoon  she  became  much  excited,  and  desired  to  be 
carried  on  deck  to  watch.  She  declared  she  was  quite  recover- 
ed, and  would  not  be  denied.  Fearing  her  mind  was  again 
wandering,  a  composing  draught  was  administered,  and  she  at 
length  fell  back  exhausted,  and  slept. 

The  day  had  been  fine  towards  its  close ;  a  rainbow,  whose 
tints  appeared  more  glorious  than  ever,  had  spread  its  peaceful 
arch  over  that  waste  of  waters,  and  as  it  dipped  its  varied  hues 
in  the  calm  ocean,  impossible  did  it  seem  that  the  same  sea,  now 
still  and  without  a  ripple,  could  ever  have  wrought  such  havoc 
to  human  life.  Treacherous  beauty  !  What  treasures  thou 
demanded,  which  thou  hast  concealed  beneath  those  sparkling 
waves,  that  ripple  peacefully  over  the  ruin  ! 

Lydia  rested  well  during  the  night,  and  the  following  day 
found  her  wounds  better.  Her  usual  animation  began  to  return, 
and  she  was  exceedingly  anxious  to  dress  quickly,  in  order  to 
take  her  station  on  deck.  Yet  she  asked  no  questions,  but  the 
anxious  faces  told  hope  was  ending  in  despair,  and  inquiry 
would  avail  nothing.  During  the  calm  that  had  preceded,  the 
vessel  had  not  gained  a  mile,  and  now  that  there  was  a  favora- 


A    SPIXSTERS    STORY.  93 

blc  wind,  the  sails  wore  unfurled,  and  the  "  Wing  of  the  West  " 
pursued  her  course  again  towards  Bremen. 

"  Please   take  mo   on  deck   now.     Thank  you,  that  is  very 
comfortable;  now  I  can  lie  here  and  watch." 
"For  what,  Mi<s  Villiers?" 

"  Oh  I  scarcely  know,  perhaps  —  I  like  to  watch  the  waves." 
W I iat  a  distance  thought  will  travel,  and  often  when  reach- 
ing as  it  were  its  limits,  turn,  unwearied,  and  trace  again  every 
channel  of  its  wanderings.  Many  benevolent  faces  had  come 
and  bent  over  the  sick  girl,  and  made  the  kind  inquiry  :  but 
now  these  were  gone,  and  while  Lottie  thought  she  was  dozing, 
the  lively  imagination  of  Lydia  was  linking  into  an  endless 
chain,  many  a  bright  fancy.  She  saw  them  at  the  end  of  their 
voyage.  One  beautiful  morning,  when  all  was  inviting,  and 
nothing  but  the  loss  of  Charles  arose  before  her  to  disturb  her 
thoughts,  as  she  took  up  the  newspaper,  her  eye  fell  on  the 
joyous  notice  that  he  had  been  picked  up  by  some  foreign  ves- 
sel, and  carried  to  a  distant  isle  ;  and  as  she  was  regretting  the 
long  time  that  must  elapse  before  she  could  see  him,  the  door 
burst  open  and  Charles  stood  before  her.  Her  temples  throb- 
ed,  she  raised  her  head,  and  her  eyes  fell  once  more  upon  the 
vast  ocean.  Her  dream  had  vanished,  and  as  she  looked  in 
vain  for  some  speck  in  the  distance  whereon  to  rest  the  weary 
eye,  hope  began  to  give  place  to  despair ;  and  there  was  very 
little  to  divert ;  every  one  seemed  to  dwell  upon  the  sad  scene 
of  the  wreck,  and  never  did  an  hour  pass  without  some  distress- 
ing allusion  to  it. 

The  night  was  fine,  and  so  light,  it  was  possible  to  read  by 
the  moonlight.  Many  were  pacing  the  deck,  unwilling  to  ex- 
change the  pure  air  for  the  close  atmosphere  of  the  cabins. 

"  A  sail !  "  resounded  along  the  deck.  "  Oh  glorious  !  Now 
for  some  news  ;  she  bears  towards  us  ;  soon  we  can  speak  her. 

Although  the  vessels  were  fast  nearing  each  other,  it  seemed 
an  age  before  the  stranger  came  to  full  view.  Yet  onward 
glided  the  gallant  ship,  and  at  length  the  "  Sea  Gull ".  return- 
ed their  salutation.  The  captain  of  the  "  Whig  of  the  West " 
took  his  station  with  his  tremendous  horn,  and  began,— 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?  " 

"  Glasgow," 

"  Where  are  you  bound?  " 

"  New  York." 

"How  long  out?" 

"Twelve  days." 

"  Have  you  spoken  any  vessels  ?  " 


94  a  spinster's  ST' 

"  No  '.  Yesterday  picked  up  a  raft  and  life-boat  bearing  the 
name  '  Wing  of  the  West.'     Nothing  more." 

The  vessels  continued  Bpeaking,  but  there  were  those  among 
the  listeners  who  could  hear  no  more.  They  had  raised  their 
expectations  too  high,  upon  seeing  the  sail,  not  to  feel  that  hope 
must  in'\v  sink  forever,  and  they  mourn  over  the  beloved  Charles 
as  one  never  to  return  to  them  ! 


CHAPTER  Xn 

'Tread  softly!  for,  within  these  walls  to-day 

A  soul  has  fled .' 
Though  beautiful,  we  must  prepare  to  lay 

Her  with  the  dead!  " 

— Old  Poem. 

"Ah!  matched,  but  not  married;"  said  Miss  Pyke,  "and 
that  is  so  much  worse  than  being  married  and  not  matched." 

"  I  should  nut  have  thought  so,"  said  Anna. 

"  Oh  yes,  most  certainly,  my  dear,  in  our  case  especially.  Of 
course,  with  men  it  is  very  different  ;  they  can  do  very  well 
either  way.  I  know  scores  of  bachelors  perfectly  contented  ; 
for,  when  I  have  given  ample  opportunity,  they  have  never 
made  the  slightest  advances.  But  our  fate  is  so  much  sadder  : 
we  pine  away  as  we  brood  over  our  disappointment,  I  know 
from  my  own  experience,  and  many  of  us  drop  into  the  grave. 
I'm  sure  it's  a  miracle  I  did  not  myself.  So  that  I've  come  to 
one  conclusion  in  regard  to  this  matter,  that  it  is  much  worse 
to  lose  a  lover  than  a  husband;  because,  before  people  are  mar- 
ried, they  think  each  other  perfection,  but  afterwards,  they  very 
soon  find  out  to  the  contrary.  And  you  may  depend  upon  it, 
nothing  but  love  is  eating  away  poor  Mr.  Everett.  You  would 
suppose,  sue]]  a  dear  good  man  would  be  too  wise  to  fall  into 
such  a  snare  ;  but  then  you  know,  they  are  only  men,  the  best 
of  them  ;  anil  no  doubt  he  feels  Lydia  is  the  only  one  to  suit ; 
I'm  sure  he  loves  her  very  much  ;  and  as  I  said  before,  they 
are  well  matched. 

"  But  so  different !  " 

"  My  dear  girl,  that  is  the  very  reason.  Contrasts  make  the 
best  matches,  because  '  opposites  are  well  met.'  But  poor  Mr. 
Everett!  I  can  truly  sympathize  with  him;  for  now  I  remem- 
ber, there  was,  of  course,  a  very  great  detriment  in  Lydia's  case 
of  late, —  her  poverty  :  and  every  young  minister  is  obliged  to 


a  spinster's  story.  95 

look  out  for  some  wealthy  girl,  unless  he  relishes  the  idea  of 
seeing  five  or  six  half-starved  children  clinging  to  him.  So  you 
sec,  in  all  cases,  my  dear  Anna,  the  greater  the  contrast  the 
better  the  match." 

"  Then  if  opposite  qualities  are  most  needed,  it  would  he  no 
difficult  matter  to  find  some  one  for  Mr.  Barrow,  for  where 
ei edd  we  meet  with  any  one  like  that  quaint  little  old  gentle- 
man ;  "  and  Anna  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  idea  of  Robert 
Barrow  Esq.,  ever  being  anything  but  a  bachelor.  Her  visitor, 
however,  did  not  move  a  muscle  of  her  face,  and  casting  a  re- 
proachful look  at  her,  said  with  much  emphasis  — 

"  Ah,  Anna  !  you  are  ignorant  of  the  sincerity  that  lives  be- 
neath that  rather  singular  exterior.  What  do  you  suppose  is 
the  reason  Mr.  Barrow  remains  a  bachelor  ?  " 

"  Because  no  one  would  be  willing  to  have  him." 

'"  No  such  thing.  Anna,  you  are  a  provoking  girl,"  growing 
angry.  "  You  are  ungrateful,  cruel  in  the  extreme.  Let  me 
tell  you,  Anna,  the  reason  is  this  —  he  has  never  been  able  to 
meet  with  a  girl  of  sufficient  sympathy  and  gentleness  ;  so  of 
course,  if  ever  he  should  make  a  choice,  the  young  lady  could 
not  but  feel  honored  by  the  distinction.  You  see,  Anna,  my 
dear,"  and  the  face  assumed  a  more  kindly  expression,  "I  am 
a  woman  of  great  penetration  ;  and  I  have  long  discovered  that 
to  know  Mr.  Barrow,  it  would  be  necessary  to  live  with  him 
through  years  of  close  intimacy  ;  nothing  short  of  that  would 
make  known  all  the  fine  qualities  of  his  noble  heart." 

"  But  I  thought  you  said  that  was  the  time  you  very  soon 
found  out  the  imperfections?  " 

"  Ah  !  in  the  case  of  most  men,  but  Mr.  Barrow  is  an  ex- 
ception." 

"Quite  so." 

"  Anna,.you  are  in  earnest,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  am.     I  certainly  think  him  quite  an  exception." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Oh  yes,  thank  goodness, 
there  are  a  few  such  exceptions  in  this  world ;  and  I  think,  in- 
deed I'm  sure,  that  poor,  clear  Mr.  Everett,  good  man,  is  one  of 
^hem.  There's  no  likelihood  of  Susan's  catching  him,"  —  speak- 
ing more  confidentially — "  never  was  ;  don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  What  did  you  say,  ma'am?  " 

"  Hush  !  I  hear  her  coming.  How  d'ye  do,  Susan,  my  dear 
friend  !  I  was  just  saying  to  Anna,  that  Mr.  Everett  will  need 
you  sooner  than  ever,  as  he  is  not  enjoying  good  health.  I 
advise  you  to  hold  yourself  in  readiness,  for  when  men  are  ill, 
that  is  the  time  they  feel  their  loneliness,  and  dependence  upon 


96  a  spinster's  story. 

u<  more  than  ever.  And  tlion  you  know,  my  dear  Susan,  he 
cannot  have  been  blind  to  the  tenderness  of  your  care  in  bringing 
up  these  two  dear  children.  Of  course  he  feels  even  this  would 
make  only  a  small  part  in  your  affection  for  your  own  offspring. 
But  1  came  only  to  say  how  d'ye  do,  for  I'm  obliged  to  go  a 
long  distance  to  see  the  spring  fashions.  Oh,  and  I  came  ex- 
pressly to  say  I  --hall  call  in  the  afternoon  to  chat  with  you, 
Silvan.      <! 1-by." 

*'  So  you  arc  gone  at  last ;  "  said  Anna  to  herself,  as  she 
closed  the  door  upon  her.  "  I'm  sorry  you're  to  come  back  so 
soon  ;  however,  here's  an  end  to  you  for  a  little  while  at  least ;  " 
and  Anna  hasted  to  complete  the  usual  morning's  work.  It 
seemed  less  irksome  than  at  other  times,  as  she  pondered  over 
the  words  of  the  strange  woman  who  had  just  gone.  In  vain 
she  endeavored  to  bring  her  mind  to  some  satisfactory  conclu- 
sion in  regard  to  Mr.  Everett  and  Lydia.     She   knew  the  idea 

jested  l>y  the  report  did  not  please  her,  and  yet  she  scarcely 
knew  why.  "  He's  not  good  enough  for  Lydia,"  came  sponta- 
neously to  her  lips.  But  then,  why  not !  she  knew  no  one  she 
herself  liked  so  well ;  there  was  much  in  him  to  admire,  prob- 
ably much  to  love  ;  he  was  evidently  very  fond  of  Lydia,  and 
if  Lydia  cared  for  him,  where  was  the  difficulty.  Certainly  he 
appeared  so  very  grave,  even  to  melancholy,  and  Lydia's  spirit 
was  so  opposite  ;  but  if  it  were  true  that  opposites  are  well  met, 
what  impediment  could  there  be  to  Lydia's  happiness  !  Again, 
Lydia  would  not  be  likely  to  forsake  her  family  in  Prussia,  and 
if  Mr.  Everett  went  to  her,  how  much  he  would  be  missed  in 
Philadelphia,  and  Alfred  and  she  lose  their  only  friend.  "  I 
wish  you  had  said  nothing  about  it,"  added  she,  and  heaving  a 
sisrh,  her  thoughts  ran  into  another  channel,  where  she  could  al- 
ways  shut  out  every  other  in  thinking  of  Alfred.  But  she  was 
not  left  to  herself  very  long  ;  for  as  Sally  Pyke  would  drink 
tea  there  that  afternoon,  Anna  must  traverse  the  streets  iu 
search  of  the  largest  of  tea-biscuits  at  the  smallest  of  prices ; 
after  which  Susan  would  prepare  one  of  them  after  some  pecu- 
liar fashion  of  her  own,  Anna  would  carry  it  to  the  door  of  the 
good  man,  where  Susan  would  relieve  her  of  it;  and  if  she  could 
gain  admittance,  plant  herself  at  the  bedside  of  the  young  min- 
ister, and  let  him  have  no  peace  until  ho  consented  to  swallow  it. 

Of  course  Sally  Pyke  kept  her  word ;  she  came  back  again. 
As  soon  as  possible,  Anna  left  the  room,  and  took  her  station 
at  her  window  to  watch  for  Alfred  ;  while  another  consultation 
was  held  below  stairs,  and  the  sum  of  it  was,  they  would  wait 
three  weeks  longer  ;  if  then  they  did  not  hear  from  Mr.  Went- 


a  spinster's  story.  97 

worth,  the  marriage  contract  should  be  forced  upon  Anna,  and 
in  a  month,  the  ceremony  take  place.  Miss  Pyke  then  gave 
Susan  some  advice  as  to  the  best  mode  of  treating  the  case  with 
the  children,  and  took  her  departure,  as  Susan  ascended  the 
stairs  to  Anna's  room.  The  little  taper  shed  a  flickering  light 
over  the  little  chamber,  and  as  it  fell  upon  the  pale  faces,  that 
of  Anna  wore  the  traces  of  tears. 

Susan  seated  herself  upon  the  side  of  the  little  bed  as  was 
her  custom,  and  looking  sternly  at  the  brother  and  sister,  began, — 
''  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is.  You  may  be  called  upon  to  leave 
here,  at  very  short  notice  ;  so  the  best  thing  yuu  can  do,  is  to 
hold  yourselves  in  readiness;  that  is,  have  another  shelter  al- 
ready sought  out.  You,  Alfred,  have  always  thought  yourself 
very  clever,  and  been  very  independent,  and  you,  Anna,  have 
encouraged  him  in  it :  now  you  can  see  how  much  it  all  will 
help  you  !  "  And  satisfied  with  the  look  of  dismay  that ,  over- 
shadowed the  countenances  before  her,  she  rose  to  leave. 
"  At  any  moment?  "   said  Alfred. 

"  Yes  !  It  is  a  report  that  Mr.  Everett  will  travel  for  his 
health,  then  we  shall  give  up  this  house  ;  but  that  is  none  of 
your  business ;    all  you  will  have  to  do,  will  be  to  go." 

She  saw  the  impression  was  favorable  ;  one  that  was  likely 
to  produce  submission.  And  how  could  it  be  otherwise,  when 
Alfred's  salary  would  not  nearly  support  himself  and  Anna, 
who  might  have  maintained  herself  apart  from  him,  so  anxious 
to  be  near  and  watch  over  him. 

It  was  the  day  for  Anna's  visit  to  Mrs.  Barrow :  with  delight 
she  saw  the  sky  lower,  and  the  heavy  clouds  indicate  rain. 
Standing  at  the  window  she  was  watching  the  weather,  hoping 
every  moment  to  see  the  large  drops  fall  and  prevent  her  going, 
when  Susan's  voice  behind  her  made  he-r  start. 

"  As  you're  such  a  poor,  miserable,  delicate  thing,  you  need 
not  go  to  her  to-day ;  for  its  going  to  rain,  and  of  course  you'd 
take  cold  to  give  us  the  trouble  of  nursing  you. 

■"  Susan,  please,  can  I  take  those  things  into  Mr.  Everett  *? 
He  told  Alfred  last  evening  he  should  like  to  see  me,  and  was 
surprised  I  had  not  been  to  him.  , 

*  '"  Nonsense,  Anna;  it's  all  Alfred's  own  invention.  Do  you 
suppose  such  a  good  man  as  Mr.  Herbert  Everett,  would  be 
guilty  of  anything  so  gross  as  to  send  for  a  young  girl  like 
you  ?  Do  you  suppose  he  would  allow  a  mere  child  as  you  are, 
to  come  into  his  room  ?  Anna,  you  commit  a  sin  against  the 
good  man  to  imagine  such  to  belong  to  him ;  you  ought  to  con- 
fess it  to  him  and  beg  his  pardon." 


98  A.   SP  BTOBY. 

"  Well,  !  will,  then,  tb  irtunity." 

•'  Aimi,  don't,  you  answer  me  ;  I'll  not  take  such  imper- 
tinence." 

"Susan,  I  believe  ['ve  finished  everything;  may  I  practice 
;i  little  now,  then  il  will  not  disturb  you  when  you  take  your 
nap." 

••  No,  indeed.  Your  education  is  now  at  an  end  ;  you  will  have 
no  more  of  it,  I  can  tell  you.  The  idea  of  a  poor  girl  —  a  mere 
r,  I  might  say, —  amusing  herself  with  books  and  piano  ! 
I  dare  say  that  Miss  Morgan  thinks  she's  doing  a  sufficient  ch  tr- 
ity  in  coming  to  you  unpaid,  to  cover  all  her  sins  for  the  rest  of 
her  life.  But  I'm  not  going  to  have  it  any  longer.  Some  time, 
when  i  feel  in  the  humor,  I  shall  send  her  away  a  little  faster 
than  she  came.  Oh  Anna,  while  T  think  of  it.  That  picture"  — 
pointing  to  the  portrait  over  the  mantle-piece, —  ''could  be  sold. 
I've  heard  it  was  valuable  on  account  of  the  painter." 

"  Sold  !  Oh  Susan,  do  not  talk  of  it;  we  could  never  sell  it, 
it  is  all  we  have  !  " 

"Perhaps  you've  no  reason  to  think  so  much  of  it.  I  don't 
believe  she  was  much  good, —  pretty  women  never  are." 

"  Oh  please  don't  say  say  such  things  !  "  bursting  into  tears, 
"  Indeed,  she  was  very  good:" 

"  Then  that's  more  than  your  father  is.'' 

"  Perhaps  he  is  dead.  But  tell  me  when  you  last  heard 
from  him,  what  is  lie  now  in  your  debt  ?  " 

"That's  our  concern.  Go  and  arrange  my  room  now,  and 
ask  no  more  ([uestions." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  and  Anna  was  tired  ;  she  be- 
lieved the  principal  business  of  the  day  completed,  and  had  just 
taken  up  a  book  when  the  bell  rang  again,  and  she  found  the 
door  opened  to  Miss  Kate  Danvers. 

"  So  you  really  are  still  in  existence,  Anna.  I'm  sure  a 
nun's  life  would  be  no  hardship  to  you  after  your  mode  of  liv- 
ing here.  So  secluded,  so  dull,  so  wretched !  how  you  con- 
tain yourself  is  a  miracle  to  me —  " 

"  How  are  they  all  at  home  ?  " 

"Oh  Minnie  is  just  as  ever,  although  she  thinks  herself  at 
the  point  of  death.  »  Then  Josephine  is  irritable  as  possible,  iffi- 
magining,  because  she  is  older,  she  should  govern  me  :  and 
what  with  her  tyrany,  and  Minnie's  sighing,  I  was  glad  to  es- 
cape for  a  while ;  so  ran  in  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  Miss  Simmons  ;  her  health  is  delicate, 
and  then  whatever  she  may  have  to  trouble  her,  will  prey  doub- 
ly upon  her." 


a  spinster's  story.  99 

"  Well,  but  she  has  no  more  to  trouble  her,  than  almost  every 
other  girl  has !  I'm  sure  you'd  little  think  what  I  have  en- 
dured ;  but  then  I  don't  let  it  trouble  me." 

"  You  don't  seem  to,  indeed." 

"  Oh  you  had  that  detestable  Pyke  here  the  other  day. 
Don't  you  find  her  a  great  nuisance  ?  Now  tell  me  honestly, 
do  you  think  I  should  be  like  her  it'  I  were  to  be  an  old  maid  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  cannot  tell ;  I  don't  think  there's  much  chance 
of  your  having  the  opportunity.'" 

"  Indeed,  there  is.  It  is  so  very  difficult  to  meet  with  one  to 
suit,  that  I  often  despond,  and  think  I  am  intended  for  a  mem- 
ber of  that  abhorred  list." 

"  Why,  have  you  been  so  unfortunate  ?  "  laughing. 

"  Oh  very  !  because,  as  soon  as  I  really  like  any  one,  there's 
sure  to  be  some  obstacle.  Two  years  ago  there  was  a  doctor 
from  the  South,  very  talented,  and  a  general  favorite.  I've 
never  loved  any  one  so  much  ;  there  was  a  great  deal  of  candor 
and  good-nature  in  him,  that,  once  acquainted  with  him,  you 
felt  the  power  of  his  attractions.  In  fact,  I  was  so  much  en- 
wrapped in  him,  that  I  was  fit  for  nothing  ;  although  he  gave  me 
no  reason  to  suppose  I  was  auy  one  in  particular  to  him,  yet  it 
was  my  misfortune  to  imagine  so.  He  spoke  sometimes  of  re- 
turning to  the  South,  and  I  flattered  myself  that  when  he  took 
his  departure,  I  should  accompany  him ;  still,  he  never  gave 
me  any  eucouragment  for  thinking  so.  Well,  it  was  one  sum- 
mer evening,  as  I  sat  meditating  alone,  that  he  came  upon  me  sud- 
denly, and  said  he  was  going  the  following  day.  "  I've  heard 
much  about  the  South,"  replied  I,  "  and  can  imagine  what  a 
pleasant  life  you  must  lead  there,  I've  often  longed  to  go." 

"  But  you  could  not  content  yourself  away  from  your  home 
and  friends  ?  "  said  he,  looking  surprised. 

"  Indeed,  I  should  be  very  happy  there,"  replied  I. 

"  I  wish  you  could  live  in  the  South,"  remarked  he,  "  our 
friends  are  few  there,  I  should  be  delighted  to  have  you." 

"  Then  you  can,  easily  enough,"  said  I,  "  for  I'm  ready  to  go 
now." 

He  was  looking  at  his  watch  and  seemed  to  pay  little  atten- 
tioH  to  what  I  was  saying.  "  I  must  go  now,"  said  he,  "  for  I 
am  about  to  fulfill  an  engagement  made  a  year  ago,  and  she  will 
be  in  despair  if  I  am  not  back  to  my  time." 

He  very  cordially  extended  his  hand  to  me,  I  don't  know 
whether  I  took  it  or  not,  I  only  remember  that  in  less  than  an 
hour,  all  vestige  of  him  was  gone,  and  I  left  to  mourn  over  my 
miserable  fate." 


luO  A  spinster's    stoky 

••  You  were  quite  unfortunate,  Kate." 

"  Oh,  t } 1 1 ;  isn'1  balf.  Soon  after  he  was  gone,  a  lawyer  often 
bad  occasion  to  come  to  my  father  on  business.  He  was  very 
jocular  and  well  informed.  Father  praised  him,  mother  liked 
him,  Josephine  admired  him,  and  I,  the  unfortunate,  loved  him. 
One  day  he  desired  to  speak  with  me, — -very  quickly  I  seated 
myself  by  his  side." 

"  '  Miss  Kate,  have  you  any  preference  for  me  1 '  inquired  he. 

"  '  Yes  II,'  there  is  no  one  I  like  so  well.1 

"  '  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,'  rejoined  he  ;  '  for  I've  want- 
ed to  know  how  many  girls  cared  for  me  ; '  and  he  walked  out. 
I  rushed  to  my  room,  determined  never  to  look  at  any  fellow 
again." 

•'  Ami  you  kept  your  resolution?  " 

"  Well  —  I  believe  I  might  ;  but  after  that,  during  the  win- 
ter, Minnie  and  Josephine  joined  a  society  for  relieving  the 
poor.  Now  I  never  took  any  interest  in  such  things  before,  but 
they  used  to  bring  home  such  glowing  accounts  of  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  president,  that  my  curiosity  was  instantly  excited. 
Minnie  was  in  perfect  health  then,  and  full  of  fun,  would  re- 
mind me  often  that  he  was  exceedingly  captivating,  and  besides, 
I  knew  that  he  was  an  importer  of  wines,  silks,  &c,  and  said  to 
be  very  rich  ;  sd  I  used  to  amuse  myself  by  imagining  in  what 
fine  style  a  wife  of  his  might  sail  through  the  circle  of  envying 
acquaintance.  It  was  discovered  that  he  lived  quite  alone  in  a 
hotel,  that  no  one  seemed  to  attract  his  attention  particularly,  for 
he  was  as  kind  and  obliging  to  all,  a  very  great  philanthropist, 
and  much  beloved.  Well,  you  know  I've  often  been  told  I  was 
very  pretty,  and  saw  no  reason  why  I  could  not  take  my  chance 
with  the  rest ;  so,  reluctant  as  I  was  to  pay  the  required  fee,  I 
became  a  member  and  joined  the  society.  Through  the  snow 
and  rain  of  that  long  winter  I  continued  to  go,  and  often  to  my 
disappointment  found  he  was  uot  there ;  still,  now  and  then,  when 
he  had  occasion  to  come,  I  was  so  charmed,  that  it  made  up  for 
his  former  absence.  He  was  about  thirty-eight  or  forty,  tall, 
well  proportioned  ami  very  handsome.  Some  said  he  had  a 
preference  for  Minnie,  others  that  he  most  admired  me,  and  I 
was  quite  willing  to  agree  with  the  latter. 

One  day  we  had  a  tremendous  storm,  Minnie  could  not  go, 
and  knowing  very  few  would  be  there,  I  thought  it  a  very  good 
time  to  attend.  No  one  was  in  the  room  ;  we  talked  a  great 
deal  about  the  poor,  the  maimed,  the  halt,  and  the  blind,  the 
indigent,  the  ignorant,  and  all  such  distasteful  subjects,  until  I 
was  heartily  weary,  and  to  change  the  topic,  I  asked  him  how 


a  spinster's  story.  101 

he  liked  our  city,  as  I  had  heard  he  came  from  the  West.  '  I 
should  feel  more  contented,'  replied  he,  '  only  I  know  my  wife 
misses  me  so  exceedingly.' 

I  bade  him  good  morning  very  indifferently,  and  never  again 
set  my  foot  upon  that  threshold." 

"  Why  Kate,  you  must  have  been  discouraged.  But  did  it 
put  an  end  to  your  flirtations?  " 

"  Oh  it  made  me  more  careful  afterwards  to  investigate  be- 
forehand." 

u  And  that  was  all  your  experience  taught  you  ?  " 

"Ah  !  but  I  have  not  told  you  all,"  rising  to  go.  "There 
was  a  time  when  I  felt  more  mortified  and  grieved  than  ever." 
The  pretty  little  face  assumed  a  pitiful  expression,  and  she  in- 
quired "  am  I  detaining  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  bring  my  work  if  you'll  excuse  me." 

"  Oh,  pray  don't !  I  hate  to  see  any  one  so  busy." 

"  Well  then,  I'm  sorry  you  were  mortified." 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  believe  I've  never  thoroughly  recovered.  I 
will  tell  you.  I  was  determined  to  trust  to  ray  fate,  and  not 
trouble  myself  any  further,  so  went  into  the  country  to  live  in 
seclusion  along  with  my  maiden  aunt.  While  I  was  there,  a 
young  officer  came  to  a  neighbor's  ;  I  don't  know  when  he  first 
saw  me,  but  I  remember  we  were  very  soon  acquainted.  I 
could  not  help  sitting  idle  at  the  window,  day  after  day,  watch- 
ing for  him,  he  was  so  witty  and  humorous,  I  was  dull  and 
wretched  without  him.  My  aunt  always  gave  me  a  scolding  as 
soon  as  he  was  gone,  and  told  me  when  she  was  a  girl,  it  was 
thought  an  iniquity  to  look  at  a  young  officer,  and  that  my  famil- 
iar manner  frightened  her.  Accordingly,  I  told  him  how  I  was 
persecuted  on  his  account.  He  laughed,  and  said  if  I  chose,  I 
could  see  him  the  following  week,  a  mile  from  my  aunt's, —  she 
would  know  nothing  of  it,  and  I  should  be  saved  an  additional 
reprimand.  I  snatched  at  the  suggestion,  but  when  the  day 
came,  it  was  wet  and  muddy,  and  how  to  get  from  the  house 
unobserved,  caused  me  much  anxiety.  Now,  there  was  an  old 
servant  living  with  my  aunt,  even  more  severe  upon  me  than 
she  was,  and  how  to  escape  her  notice,  while  aunt  was  dozing, 
puzzled  me  considerably.  However,  my  aunt  was  very  eccen- 
tric, and  whenever  the  spirit  moved  her,  went  out  among  the 
poor,  no  matter  what  the  weather  might  be.  The  old  woman 
was  sitting  at  the  window,  and  could  watch  any  one  passing  in 
the  garden.  My  decision  was  at  last  made.  I  went  to  my  aunt's 
wardrobe,  put  on  her  long  cloak,  (for  she  was  a  tall  woman) 
and  large  old-fashioned  poke  bonnet.     The  clogs  hurt  my  feet, 


L02  \  spinster's  stoet. 

I mt  I  did  not  dare  venture  in  the  wot  without  them ;  so,  man- 
!  tu  hobble  down  stairs  in  them  at  tin;  risk  of  breaking  my 
neck.  A-<  I  passed  through  the  porch,  my  large  bonnet  which 
I  carried,  very  likely,  rathe:-  awkwardly,  struck  against  the  par- 
ro   -  cage  an. I  removed  it.  which  carried  the  bonnet  with  it  as  it 

fell.      Tiic  provoking  bird    r gnized  me,  ami  screamed  out  my 

nunc.  The  imisc  startled  the  old  woman.  I  heard  her  coming 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  endeavored  to  run  ;  the  clogs 
impeded  my  progress,  and  just  as  I  reached  the  lane  I  stumbled 
and  fell.  The  bonnet  my  aunt  prized  so  much  was  broken,  so 
that  1  could  not  bring  it  into  any  shape  again,  and  my  clothes 
were  saturated  with  mud.  However,  I  put  the  bonnet  on  some- 
how, and  holding  over  me  the  broken  umbrella  that  would  con- 
tinue to  close  round  me,  pursued  my  dreary  way.  As  I  neared 
our  place  of  meeting;,  I  heard  the  well  known  voice  laughing;  at 
the  strange  appearance  of  some  old  woman,  and  to  my  annoy- 
ance, and  his  great  surprise,  we  discovered  that  I  was  the  sub- 
ject of  his  ridicule.  He  was  an  immense,  big  fellow,  and  I  felt 
less  than  ever  by  the  side  of  him.  I  was  very  much  exhausted 
in  battling  with  the  weather;  he  sat  me  upon  his  knee,  dipped 
his  handkerchief  in  a  pool  of  muddy  water,  and  washed  the 
dirt  from  my  face.  Then  taking  my  aunt's  bonnet  upon  his 
sword,  ridiculed  it  most  unmercifully,  as  he  did  the  cloak  and 
clogs  in  turn.  After  which  he  looked  at  me  with  a  mischiev- 
ous glance,  and  said,  '  now  my  dear,  as  you  have  taken  so 
much  trouble  to  come  to  me,  you  deserve  something  for  your 
pains  ;  so  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  advice.  Nest  time  you  hap- 
pen to  fall  in  love  with  any  one,  don't  be  such  a  little  fool  as 
to  let  the  fellow  know  it.'  " 

"  And  wli  it  did  your  aunt  say  about  her  bonnet?  " 
"  Oh,  it  was  dark  before  I  reached  home,  and  I  lost  it,  to- 
gether with  one  of  the  clogs,  on  the  way  ;  my  aunt  had  a  head- 
ache, and  was  gone  to  bed;  I  followed  her  example,  and  the 
next  morning  before  they  were  about,  started  for  the  city.  So 
I  don't  know  how  she  bore  the  loss  of  her  black  satin  bonnet. 
But  I  suppose  you'll  have  the  riot-act  read  if  I  keep  you  here 
any  longer,  still  I  must  ask  what  is  the  matter  with  Mr.  Everett  ? 
How  do  you  like  him  now?  But  while  I  think  of  it  —  It's 
true,  isn't  it,  that  Barrow  still  comes  here?  I  should  have 
thought  you  would  have  died  long  before  this,  with  such  an 
odious,  rickety  old  sinner ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  that  you  are  the 
jest  of  every  one,  for  tolerating  the  whimsical  old  hypocrite. 
B ut  I  came  here  in  a  great  hurry  to  bring  a  message  from  Min- 
nie.    .She  thinks  she  is  quite  ill,  and   wants  very  much  to  see 


a  spinster's  story.  103 

you ;  I  think  she  admires  you,  because  you  agree  with  her,  that 
flirtation,  hulls,  &c,  are  too  great  a  sin  to  be  pardoned." 

"  I'm  not  quite  so  severe;  but  poor  Minnie!  I  will  come, 
tell  her,  as  soon  as  possible  ;  and  1  hope  she'll  soon  be  well." 

"  Oh,  there's  not  much  the  matter  with  her,  only  she  has  the 
misfortune  to  have  broken  her  heart  into  small  pieces  to  give 
a  part  to  every  one  ;  and  now,  because  she  fancies  none  of  us 
have  given  her  some  of  ours  in  return,  she  is  unhappy.  She 
told  me  to  ask  you  to  come  soon,  very  soon  ;  but  you  need  not; 
suit  yourself  about  it.  Good-by.  Oh,  did  Charles  Villiers 
ever  say  anything  to  you  of  me  ?  Because  I  once  hinted  I 
would  write,  and  he  remarked,  lie  should  be  very  happy  to  re- 
ceive my  letters.  I  know  by  this  time,  half  of  them  don't  mean 
what  they  say  ;  but  then  I  think  he  is  superior  to  the  generality, 
don't  you?  Well,  I  really  must  go ;  "  she  tripped  into  the 
street,  and  Anna  closed  the  door,  regretting  the  light-hearted 
girl  had  left  her.  As  she  was  passing  through  the  passage, 
a  voice  called  her,  and  turning,  she  found  it  proceeded  from  Mr. 
Everett's  room. 

"  Come  in,  Anna." 

The  door  was  thrown  open ;  and  the  tall,  thin  figure  of  the 
minister  appeared.     It  would  have  seemed  before  that  he  had 
no  flesh  to  lose  ;  however,  there  must  have  been,  for  the  altered 
appearance  of  the  pale  face  startled  Anna,  as  she  looked  up  at 
him.     She  entered  the  little  study  ;  the  books  and  papers  were 
upon  the  table  as  usual.     Some  music  lay  upon  the  open  me- 
lodeon,  and  altogether  the  apartment  presented  the  appearance 
of  monastic  seclusion,  where  only  one  form  of  the  living  moved 
through  the  unbroken  silence  of  his  solitude.     He  drew  a  chair 
from  its  resting  place,  and  as  Anna  seated  herself,  the  peculiar 
loneliness  that  pervaded  this  chamber,  seemed  to  throw  a  gloom 
around  her.     Certainly  the  house  in  which  she  had  passed  so 
many  years,  had  too  often  been  overshadowed  by  the   heavy 
monotony  that  ever  hung  over  it,  and  which  the  years,  as  they 
approximated  her  womanhood,  did  little  to"  remove.     Yet  it  was 
more  the  spirit  of  ennui,  than  the  gloom  of  melancholy  ;  an  at- 
mosphere conducive  to  lulling  the  passions  of  the  soul  into  dor- 
"mancy,  rather  than- to  awake  ami  arouse  the  sensibilities;  still, 
Anna  thought  as  she  sat  and  looked  around  her  that  there  had 
been  within  the  walls  of  that  dwelling,  a  deeper  shade,  shut  out 
from  familiar  intercourse,  more  solitary  than  her  own,  within 
the  door  that  had  just  opened  to  her.     "  And  for  any  one  to 
suppose  that  Lydia  could  ever  consent  to  share  such  !  "  thought 
she,  "  it  would  be  cruelty  of  any  man  to  shut  within  its  narrow 


104  a  spinster's  story. 

limits  a  spirit  so  joyous,  a  being  so  beautiful.  Yet  if  he  loved 
Lydia,  doubtless  it  was  with  a  passion  that  would  yield  the  som- 
bre soul  oaptive  to  her  fascinating  power.  And  what  do  we 
learn  to  long  for  bul  to  be  loved  ;  and  if  this  will  reign  para- 
mount over  every  difficulty  and  bumble  into  nothingness  every 
obstacle,  where  would  he  the  regrel  ?  " 

"  So  Anna,  you  were  determined  to  keep  aloof  from  mo  ;  pray, 
what  did  you  imagine  my  disorder,  something  exceedingly  con- 
tagious '.'  " 

"  No,  indeed,  sir.  I  should  have  been  very  happy  to  have 
come,  but — " 

"  But  you  thought  I  was  in  such  exellent  hands,  under  the 
kind  auspices  of  my  worthy  friend  Susan,  that  all  other  atten- 
tion would  be  swallowed  up  in  that  officiousness.  I  don't  won- 
der, for  certainly  not  every  sick  bachelor  has  been  blessed  with 
a  tunic  and  turban  bonding  over  him,  every  time  he  opened  his 
eyes,  to  make  him  fancy  he  has  been  suddenly  transformed  into 
an  Indian  prince  ^  or  with  a  huge  fan  swinging  across  his  face, 
to  keep  away  the  flies,  while  the  weather  was  too  cold  for  the 
least  sign  of  any,  when  every  other  motion  brought  it  in  con- 
tact with  the  nose  of  the  individual,  until  he  was  uncertain 
whether  aught  but  the  bare  bone  remained.  Then  fancy  a 
nurse  so  eager  in  her  solicitations  for  you  to  recover,  that  she 
forces  you  to  swallow  double  doses,  especially  in  throwing  down 
a  sore  throat  three  pills  at  a  time,  when  one  was  upon  the  pre- 
scription ;  and  then  to  crown  all,  to  hear  her  read  the  lessons 
for  the  day  to  you,  and  because  she  would  not  wear  her  specta- 
cles, have  to  convert  every  verse  into  so  me  unknown  sense,  so 
that  in  the  chapter  where  you  expect  to  hear  'In  the  days  of 
Sennacherib  there  was  a  sore  famine  in  the  land,'  your  astonish- 
ed ears  are  informed  that  '  In  the  days  of  Saint  Snatch -a-crab 
there  was  a  boar  salmon  in  the  land.'  " 

"Is  it  possible  you  had  so  much  to  contend  with?  Indeed 
you  were  quite  a  martyr." 

"  Not  the  first  in  the  house,  I  expect,  Anna;  smiling.  And 
that  is  the  reason  you  can  sympathize."  His  face,  as  he  spoke, 
was  animated  ;  the  -whole  being  seemed  changed,  the  gloomy 
cloud  no  longer  pervaded  the  apartment  ;  and  as  Anna  gazed 
upon  the  countenance,  she  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own 
thoughts  to  notice  Susan's  call.  "  How  much  I  admire  you  ! 
And  when  I  like  you  so  much,  why  should  it  be  impossible  for 
any  one  to  love  you  !  " 

She  arose  as  a  second  call  from  Susan  startled  her.  "  I  must 
go  now,  sir ;  if  I  can  do  anything  for  you,  I  shall  be  most 
happy." 


A    SPINSTEIl's    STORY.  105 

"I  am  confident  of  that,  Anna,  thank  you;  see, I  will  leave 
the  key  of  my  book-case  here,  then  you  can  supply  yourself- 
with  books  any  time.  But  I  must  not  keep  yon,  she  has  called 
before,  bnt  I  thought  you  were  in  no  haste  to  receive  her  or- 
ders, and  I  assure  you  1  was  not  anxious  to  lose  you." 

He  extended  his  hand,  and  with  regret  Anna  took  her  leave, 
and  closed  the  door  upon  Mr.  Herbert  Everett. 

Finding  it  was  impossible  to  go  to  Minerva  that  day,  she 
arose  early  the  following  morning,  in  order  to  exhaust  all  the 
requirements  of  Mrs.  Gilbert  and  Susan,  before  night-fall. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when  she  escaped  from  the  house,  and 
ascended  the  steps,  where  dwelt  the  amiable  Minerva.  Jose- 
phine opened  the  door,  and  said  in  a  half  whisper,  "  I'm  so  glad 
you  are  come.  Minnie  has  been  calling  for  you  ever  since  yes- 
terday." Walking  on  tiptoe,  she  led  the  way  up  stairs,  noise- 
lessly turned  the  handle  of  a  door,  and  left  her. 

Anna  entered;  on  -a  bed  lay  the  emaciated  form  of  the  pale 
Minerva.  It  was  little  more  than  a  week  since  Anna  saw  her 
in  tolerable  health  ;  now  she  stood  in  the  chamber  of  death. 
By  her  side  sat  the  physician,  watching  vnith  intense  anxiety 
the  symptoms  of  the  suffering  girl.  He  raised  the  pillows,  and 
placed  the  head  more  comfortably. 

"  Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind."  As  her  eyes  dropped 
again,  they  fell  upon  Anna.  "  Oh  Anna,  dear,  come  near. 
Now  sir,  you  will  please  leave  me  a  little  while. 

With  an  effort  she  raised  herself,  and  clasping  Anna  tightly 
as  she  threw  her  arms  round  her  neck,  exclaimed,  "  Oh  I'm  so 
very  glad  you  are  come,  my  dear,  kind  friend  !  " 

"Minerva,  I  know  now  how  much  you  have  suffered,"  said 
Anna,  through  her  tears.  "  I  wish  I  could  have  been  with  you 
long  before  ;  and  so  you  are  left  alone !  You  know  how  ill 
you  are,  and  I  would  not  have  you  deceived,  but  can  I  do  noth- 
ing for  you,  clear  ?  " 

"  Anna,  I  am  dying  —  I  have  settled  all  —  yet  there  is  one 
thing  I  must  do  before  I  leave  this  world."  The  tears  flowed 
fast  down  the  thin  cheeks,  upon  which  was  seated  the  hue  of 
•death,  as  the  whole  frame  trembled  under  the  intensity  of  the 
Suffering  within. 

"  Let  me  get  you  something." 

il  No,  love,  I  am  better  now  ;  it  was  a  moment  of  weakness  ; 
I  had  forgotten  I  had  given  up  all  things  of  earth.  I  look  now 
for  a  better  inheritance.  Bnt  I  am  growing  fainter  —  I  must 
do  it  now,  Anna  dear,  you  will  help  me." 

"  Minnie,  tell  me  what  it  is." 
5* 


106  A    SWNSTEBi'S     STORY. 

"1  musl  writ; — give  me  a  pen — I  cannot  see  tlie  paper. 
( :h  yes,  here,  thank  you  —  " 

took  the  pen  within  the  powerless  fingers,  bul  vain  was 
the  effort,  and  Bhe  sunk  back  upon  her  pillow  exhausted. 

■■  Anna,  I  cannot  —  write  for  me. 

When  she  had  revived  again,  she  dictated  the  following, 

"  Come  to  me  for  I  am  dying.  Let  me  see  you  once — hear  you 
speak,  ami  know  you  are  near  me. 

Minnie." 

The  direction  bore  the  name  of  one  prominent  among  the 
honorary  men  of  his  city;  one  whose  public  character  remained 
probably  without  a  blemish. 

"  Here  Anna,  is  my  purse  —  now  send  the  note  by  telegraph." 

Taking  the  billet,  Anna  went  in  search  of  some  one  to  watch 
l>y  the  Bufferer  during  her  absence. 

"  I  would,  but  I'm  afraid  she  will  die  while  I  am  there,"  said 
Josephine. 

"  And  I  never  can  bear  to  look  upon  anything  that  is  dread- 
ful," rejoined  Kate. 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  go ; "  said  their  mother,  as  she  left 
the  room. 

With  difficulty  Anna  found  the  telegraph  office  ;  it  was  grow- 
ing late,  yet  she  could  not  return  home,  although  she  dreaded 
an  irruption  of  Susan's  fiery  temper ;  and  she  returned  to  the 
chamber  of  death.  Minerva  was  changed  ;  the  eyes  were  dim, 
the  expression  fixed,  the  lips  livid.  Near  her  on  a  couch  sat 
Mrs  Danvers  asleep.  Bending  over  the  dying  girl,  Anna  whis- 
pered, 

"  Minnie  dear,  should  you  like  to  see  Mr.  Everett?" 

"  Yes  !  I  would  receive  the  sacrament." 

Leaving  the  chamber,  Anna  went  in  quest  of  the  minister. 
Passing  their  house,  she  saw  no  light  in  his  room,  so  knew  he 
was  nut  at  home.  After  much  research  she  found  him  at  a  din- 
ner pai'ty.  He  immediately  excused  himself,  left  the  table  and 
accompanied  her.  The  household  were  assembled  in  that  still 
chamber.  For  the  last  time  Minerva  received  the  pledges  of  a 
living  Saviour's  love,  ere  s'c  was  called  to  participate  in  the 
holy  fellowship  of  the  saints  in  glory.  Peacefully  was  life  ebb- 
ing away  as  they  knelt  around  the  bed  of  the  dying.  For  a 
moment  the  eves  opened,  she  attempted  to  raise  herself  as  if  to 
view  some  object  at  the  door.  "  I  thought  he  had  come!" 
Then  sinking  back  upon  the  pillows  again,  "But  I  should  have 
done  with  all  now  !     How  unworthy  !     Father  forgive  me!" 


a  spinster's  story.  107 

The  eyes  closed  again,  moved,  but  without  a  sound,  ;  a 

slight  struggle  —  then  all  again  was  calm;  a  moment  more  — 
ami  the  spirit  had  winged  il  !>  the  regions  of  the  bl 

The  door  Idenly  thrown  open;  the  figure  of  a¥man 

to  the  bedside,  and  clasping  the  corpse  as  he  pressed  the 
marble  face  to  his  bosom,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Minnie  —  speak  — 
forgive  me  ! " 

Anna  returned  home  :  her  thoughts  had  been  lifted  entirely 
out  of  herself,  yet  as  she  met  the  sorrowful  countenance  of  Al- 
fred, she  awoke  from  her  reverie,  and  soon  lived  again  in  pain- 
ful reality,  when  she  heard  his  inquiry  — 

"AiDi;;,  where  is  the  picture?" 

"  The  portrait,  why,  is  it  not  in  my  room  ?  " 

They  ascended  together  ;  there  was  the  nail,  but  the  face  on 
which  they  had  loved  to  gaze,  over  which  they  had  mingled 
their  many  tears  —  was  gone. 

'•  There,  you've  cried  enough  about  that,"  said  the  harsh 
voice  of  Susan  ;  "  it's  sold,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.  And,  you 
ought,  both  of  you,  to  thank  me  for  taking  the  trouble,  instead 
of  making  that  fuss  over  it.  Now,  Anna,  as  you  chose  to  stay 
out  so  long  to  see  live  people  die,  or  dead  ones  get  buried,  you 
can  go  and  clear  away  the  tea-things  down  stairs  ;  as  you  never 
came  home  at  tea-time,  it's  a  proof  you  don't  want  any  tea;  and 
a  great  deal  you  care  for  Alfred,  when  you  never  came  to  boil 
his  sago, —  you  needn't  expect  anything  else,  I  can  tell  you,  it's  a 
great  deal  for  you  to  have  a  comfortable  home  over  your  heads." 

The  fortune  of  the  gentle  Minerva  was  not  small,  and  by  her 
will  it  was  found  she  had  bequeathed  it  with  judgment  and 
benevolence.  It  was  principally  divided  among  charitable  in- 
stitutions, while  there  was  a  small  annuity  to  Mrs.  DanVers,  lest 
she  should  some  time  be  dependent  upon  her  selfish  children. 
Her  jewels  were  left  to  Kate,  her  wardrobe,  which  was  new  and 
elegant,  to  Josephine,  and  her  books  to  Anna.  She  had  been 
heard  to  say  in  her  life  time,  that  she  desired  no  stone  to  mark 
her  resting-place,  as  none  would  probably  care  to  note  the  spot, 
or  shed  a  tear  upon  her  tomb. 

It  was  the  day  of  the  funeral ;  the  poor  little  children  in 
"whose  midst  she  had  so  often  sat,  pressed  to  see  the  last  of  her 
they  so  dearly  loved.  And  there  were  those,  who,  when 
ing  over  the  bed  which  held  the  sick  child  of  poverty,  had  re- 
ceived from  some  unknown  hand  the  silent  little  billet,  whose 
contents  could  alleviate  all  their  present  wants.  Hers  was  an  un- 
ostentatious life,  and  silent  as  was  her  influence,  so  was  her  charity. 

Shortly   after,  a  few  who   cherished  her  memory  visited   the 


108  a  spinster's  stoby. 

green  mound,  and  found  there,  erected  by  some  unknown  band, 
a  marble  Blab,  over  the  grave  of  Minerva. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"I  saw  your  brother. 
Most  provident  in  peril,  bind  himself 
ii  lourage  and  hope  bpth  teaching  him  the  practice) 

trong  mast,  that  lived  upon  the  sea; 
Where,  like  Axion  on  the  dolphin's  back, 
1  saw  him  hold  acquaintance  with  the  waves, 
So  long  as  I  could  see." 

"A  boat!  a  boat!"  resounded  along  tbe  deck,  as  nimble 
feet  hurried  to  one  side  of  tbe  vessel,  and  all  gave  their  atten- 
tion to  a  speck,  which,  far  across  the  wide  waste  of  waters,  ap- 
peared at  the  verge  of  the  horizon.  Eagerly  and  earnestly 
they  gazed,  while,  as  the  indices  of  a  joy  too  full  for  language 
to  express,  tear  followed  tear,  as  the  silent  prayer  of  thanksgiv- 
ing ascended  to  heaven.  Nearer  and  nearer  —  now  ten  figures 
could  be  discerned  ;  but  was  Charles  there,  or  would  the  wan- 
derer only  bring  some  vague  tidings  of  the  little  skiff  that  had 
borne  those  young  philanthropists  on  their  errand  of  mercy 
over  the  mighty  deep  ?  Hour  after  hour  they  stood  gazing  ;  at 
last  the  fares  were  towards  them. 

"  He  is  there  !  I  see  him  !  I  know  it  is  Charles  !"  said  Ly- 
dia  as  she  pressed  the  glass  still  closer  to  the  aching  eyes. 

"Oli  mamma!  now  we  can  see  them  with  the  naked  eye! 
don't  you  see  Charles  there  to  the  left  V  " 

"Yes,  Lottie,  lean  see  my  noble  boy,  oh  my  own  Charles, 
you  are  spared  to  me  !  "  and  leaning  upon  one  who  stood  by, 
the  widow  wept  for  joy. 

"  But  they  don't  return  our  salutation  !  See,  Charles  smiles  ! 
yet  they  scarcely  lift  their  eyes  to  us,  and  they  are  hardly  mov- 
ing the  oars  :  but  we  shall  soon  reach  them!  " 

"  Sec,  mamma  !  Lottie  !  Charles  looks  at  us,  his  lips  move, 
but  we  cannot  hear  a  sound  although  it  is  so  still ! " 

The  boat  was  now  under  the  side  of  the  "  Wing  of  the  West," 
and  amid  the  shouts  aud  cheers  of  the  ship's  company,  a  rope 
ladder  was  lowered,  yet  none  attempted  to  ascend  it. 

"  Charles,  come !  Oh,  he  is  dying!  Look,  none  of  them 
have  any  strength  to  move.  But,  no  wonder,  after  four  days 
and  nights  upon  the  deep  !  " 

But  strong  arms  were  in  eager  readiness,  and  very  soon  the 


a  spinster's  story.  101) 

famished  and  exhausted  bodies  were  raised  to  the  deck;  and 
after  the  first  embrace,  Charles  was  borne  to  the  rest  and  quiet 
of  his  cabin.  Anxious  were  many  to  hear  of  the  ill-fated  ves- 
sel, yet  none  "had  sufficient  strength  to  speak  to  tell  the  sad  tale. 

"  All  aboard  !  "  had  been  cried  by  the  men  in. the  boat,  and 
they  were  about  to  leave  it,  when  one  of  them  trod  upon  some 
clothing  in  the  bottom;  it  moved;  the  things  were  removed, 
and  there  lay  apparently  lifeless,  the  body  of  a  female.  A  chair 
was  arranged,  and  lowered,  in  which  the  body  was  fastened  and 
carefully  lifted  ;  for  these  rough,  hardy  sailors  proved  themselves 
very  gentle  nurses. 

For  hours  Charles  lay  motionless,  manifesting  no  signs  of  life  ; 
at  last  the  anxious  friends  saw  the  lips  move,  and  struggling  to 
raise  himself  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  save  her  !  see,  she  rises,  do 
throw  the  rope  !  " 

"  Who  is  the  female  ?  "  inquired  Lydia  of  the  stewardess. 

"  Well,  she  is  without  doubt  one  of  the  passengers,  probably 
about  twenty  ;  the  clothing  upon  her  is  marked,  B.  E.  S.  it  is 
very  beautifully  made,  and  her  rings  are  of  diamonds.  I  could 
not  see  her  in  a  good  light,  and  I  don't  wish  to,  for  the  little 
French  doctor  keeps  saying  '  tres  belle,'  and  I  'spect  in  English 
that  means  something  very  bad."  ( 

"  Is  she  recovering'?  " 

"  Gracious  no,  miss  !  I  s'pose  she's  been  dead  ever  since  she 
was  taken  out  of  the  boat." 

"  Then  please  don't  sing  and  appear  so  cheerful,  if  there  is  a 
corpse  on  board." 

"Why  miss,  our  minister  is  a  very  good,  respectable-like 
sort  of  a  man,  and  a  power  more  of  "a  Christian  than  half  the 
white  fellows  who  go  travelling  with  their  wives,  and  just  wear 
a  preacher's  dress  because  it  has  a  meek  sort  of  a  look.  Well, 
he  never  gets  married,  or  attends  to  any  such  common  things  of 
the  world  as  I  know  of ;  and  when  he  preaches,  or  says  bis 
prayers,  you  can  tell  by  the  way  his  face  looks,  that  his  whole 
soul  is  there  in  the  pulpit  with  him.  '  Now  miss,'  he  used  to 
say  every  Sunday,  '  this  is  a  world  of  sin  and  sorrow,'  and  he 
never  told  anything  but  the  truth,  so  I  always  try  to  rejoice  when 
any  one  is  taken  out  of  it;  "  and  again  rubbing  the  silver  with 
all  the  strength  of  her  muscular  arm,  the  negress  continued  her 
song. 

The  following  day  it  was  found  that  those  saved  consisted  of 
two  gentlemen  who  were  passengers,  a  lad,  the  son  of  one  of 
these,  and  six  of  the  crew ;  two  of  whom  were  the  first  to  evince 
signs  of  recovery,  but  many  preferred  to  wait  until  one  of  the 


110  a  spinster's  story. 

gentlemen  should  recover  to  give  them  an  account  of  the  wreck, 
around  whom  they  hovered,  and  bestowed  every  kindness  their 
sympathy  could  suggest.  But  there  were  a  few  who  could  af- 
ford to  extend  their  benevolence  beyond  the  confines  of  their 

own  sphere,  ami  these  gentlemen,  thinking  those  in  the  cabin 
sufficiently  well  taken  care  of,  left  them  for  the  dark  berths  of 
the  forecastle,  where  lay  those  who  were  rescued  of  the  crew  of 

the  wreck  ;  and  there  they  heard  from  honest  lips,  unembellish- 
ed  by  any  figures  of  speech,  the  history  of  the  sinking  ship. 

It  was  the  "  Eagle,"  bound  for  Havre,  heavily  freighted,  and 
containing  upwards  of  fifty,  excluding  the  crew.  She  had 
sprung  a  leak,  and  tilled  so  fast  that  the  pumps  were  of  little 
avail  ;  during  the  storm,  several  men  were  washed  overboard, 
the  wheel  and  compass  were  carried  away,  and  at  last  their  only 
hope  was  in  Wearing  their  minute  gun  fired,  and  in  raising  their 
eyes  to  assure  themselves  the  remnant  of  their  flag  still  waved 
as  their  signal  of  distress.  Then  they  told  of  their  joy  upon 
seeing  a  sail,  and  lastly,  their  anguish  upon  finding  it  was  fast 
receding,  and  they  left  alone  to  perish. 

"  But  who  is  that  lady  V  " 

"  A  lady  '(  was  there  one  woman  saved  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  young  lady  ;  her  initials  are  B.  S.  I  believe." 

"  Can  it  be  Miss  Sauvestre,  I  wonder  V" 

"What,  Mademoiselle  Beatrice;  is  she  saved?"  said  anoth- 
er sailor,  raising  himself  upon  his  elbows.  "  B.  S.  yes,  it  is 
sweet  mademoiselle.  Oh,  she  is  beautiful,  she  is  good.  When 
she  is  able,  she  will  come  to  us,  she  would  go  anywhere  to  the 
sick;  lovely  girl  —  " 

"  Ah,  but  it's  thought  she'll  not  live." 

"  Oh,  will  she  die  'i  then  let  me  go  to  her.  I  know  she  will 
see  me  !  " 

"  Then  you  are  acquainted  with  the  young  lady  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  how,  sir.  In  the  beginning  of  our  voyage,  a 
block  fell  upon  my  head,  and  made  me  insensible.  I  was  car- 
ried below,  and  when  I  awoke  to  consciousness  I  found  a  figure 
sitting  near  me.  It  was  mademoiselle.  How  she  came  there 
was  a  mystery,  as  no  passenger  was  ever  allowed  to  come  to  us. 
I  never  shall  forget  how  I  was  struck  with  the  idea  of  purity, 
as  she  hovered  over  me,  the  light  from  the  hatchway  now  and 
then  falling  upon  her,  while  she  kept  bathing  my  temples,  and 
administering  many  little  comforts  that  carried  me  back  to  the 
days  of  home.  It  was  thought  my  brain  was  injured,  and  that 
I  should  live  but  a  short  time.  It  was  too  dark  to  read  the 
books  she  had  brought  with  her,  so  she  repeated  choice  passages 


A    SPINSTERS    STOET.  Ill 

of  the  Saviour's  pilgrimage  upon  earth.  She  spoke  very  earnest- 
ly upon  death  and  the  judgment,  thou  knelt  beside  me,  and 
laying  her  bands  upon  mine,  prayed  very  fervently  that  my 
sins  might  be  pardoned,  and  my  soul  saved.  I  was  not  the 
only  one  benefited  ;  there  were  those  whose  watch  it  was  below, 
and  not  a  word  was  uttered  as  they  listened  to  the  sweet  voice, 
dissipating  our  gloomy  darkness,  and  throwing  around  us  the 
light  of  everlasting  truth." 

"  Then,  if  she's  such  an  angel  of  light,"  said  one  of  the  gen- 
tlemen, "  she  should  have  been  here  a  short  time  ago, 
came  near  breaking  my  neck  in  the  dark,  finding  my  way  to 
you."  And  growing  tired  of  his  stay,  he  left  the  poor  sailor's 
dungeon  for  his  comfortable  state-room.  But  fortunately,  there 
were  two  or  three,  who,  believing  an  honest  heart,  bright  intel- 
lect and  sound  mind,  constitute  the  man,  saw  no  difference 
whether  he  lay  ensconced  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  or  was  laid 
low  by  neglect  and  misfortune  :  and  these,  returning  daily  to 
linger  by  the  beds  of  pain,  fulfilled  the  promise  of  the  Saviour, 
"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these 
my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 

Charles  continued  to  linger,  and  it  was  not  until  the  third 
day  that  he  began  to  revive.  His  anxious  friends  had  endeav 
ored  to  draw  his  mind  off  the  subject  of  the  wreck,  which  seem 
ed  to  press  so  heavily  upon  him,  and  Lydia  had  been  using  her 
utmost  endeavors  in  talking  of  Prussia,  and  her  anticipations 
for  him  as  heir  to  La  Belle.  When  one  of  the  passengers  came 
to  inquire  after  him,  and  finding  him  restored  to  consciousness, 
very  inconsiderately  demanded  an  account  of  the  noble  young 
Taylor,  who  had  accompanied  him.  The  lips  quivered,  and  cast- 
ing a  look  of  anguish  upon  the  speaker,  he  uttered  the  word 
"  drowned,"  and  groaning  in  agony,  turned  from  them,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  pillows. 

Towards  afternoon,  fiuding  him  much  better,  Mrs.  Yilliers 
left  him  with  his  sisters,  and  softly  entered  the  cabin  of  the  res- 
cued lady.  The  eyes  were  closed,  and  she  appeared  sleeping 
calmly.  Her  complexion  was  somewhat  that  of  a  brunette,  though 
very  clear,  and  the  glossy  black  tresses  as  they  fell  upon  the  pillow 
exposed  a  forehead  high  and  intellectual  ;  the  features  were  reg- 
ular and  well  formed,  and  notwithstanding  the  hardship  ami 
suffering  she  had  endured,  a  slight  tint  of  vermilion  rested  upon 
the  cheek  and  lips,  and  contrasted  with  the  fringy  lashes  of  jet 
that  fell  from  the  closed  eyes.  The  widow  approached  softly, 
and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  clear  brow ;  the  eyes  opened  :  large, 
full,  black  and  sparkling,  yet,  their  glance  seemed  more  expres- 
sive than  penetrative. 


112  A    BPIN  3  I  I  b's    STOBT. 

"  You  are  much  better,"  said  the  widow,  bending  over  the 
invalid.     "  1  think  yon  will  -nun  be  well.  ' 

■■  Zes !  bul  I  feel  so  forlorn,  so  very  lonely!  T  have  lost  all 
my  friends  now,  tor  lie  has  perished.     Oh,  yes,  he  has  gone  !  " 

"'  I  think  you  could  bear  it  if  I  were  to  read  a  little  to  you." 

And  taking  a  bible  from   the  folds  of  her  dress,  she  read   from 

thai    portion,  where  the   Saviour  is  deserted   by  His  disciples, 

•■  Hi-  life  ni'  unparalled  woe,  ami  left  to  bear  alone  the  last 

I  trial  nf  His  Bojourn  among  men. 

Sun  had  finished.  The  arms  were  thrown  round  her  neck,  as 
the  suffering  girl  exclaimed  through  her  tears,  "Oh  you  are  so 
very  kind,  madam,  so  good,  the  kindest  of  all!  and  resting  her 
head  upon  the  bosom  of  the  widow,  her  tears  fell  fast.  For  a 
time  her  grief  was  violent  and  uncontrollable, but  it  soon  calmed 
under  the  soothing  influence  of  the  widow,  who  pointed  her  to 
abetter  Comforter,  and  uniting  in  the  petition  for  a  submissive 
spirit,  she  took  her  leave  of  Beatrice  Sauvestre. 

"  Charles,  you  are  regaining  your  strength,  so  it  will  do  you 
no  harm  to  talk,  and  I  want  very  much  to  know  if  you  remem- 
ber anything  of  the  lady  whose  life  you  saved.  Do  you  know 
if  she  were  an  old  lady,  a  child,  or  who?  " 

Lydia  looked  into  the  thin,  pale  face,  but  there  was  naught 
but  thoughtfulness  written  there,  as  he  replied  — 

"  I've  not  the  least  idea.  I  felt  sure  from  the  long  hair  and 
flowing  garment,  that  it  must  be  a  female  ;  but  when  we  lifted 
her  into  the  boat,  it  was  too  dark  to  discern  anything  more,  so 
we  took  off  what  clothing  we  could  spare,  and  wrapped  it  round 
her,  without  knowing  whether  she  were  white  or  black." 

"  Well,  she  is  up  to-day  for  the  first  time,  and  has  dressed  on 
purpose  to  come  to  you  and  return  her  thanks ;  would  you  be 
willing  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  But  Lyddie,  I  don't  like  to  be  thanked  !  " 

'•  Ah,  but  you  would  not  refuse  an  old  lady,  surely,  if  it  were 
her  great  wish  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  an  old  lady  !  Lyddie,  you  know  she's  perfectly 
welcome  to  anj  ■  1  could  ever  have  rendered  her.     But 

I  can  ;    I  don't  want  to  see  any  old  lady,  Lyddie  love." 

"  Then  you  shall  not,  only  keep  here  until  I  return  ;  "  and 
adjusting  the  dressing-gown  once  again,  and  assuring  him  he 
Looked  like  a  friar,  she  left  his  side  for  a  moment,  and  returned 
leading  by  the  hand,  the  grateful  Beatrice. 

She  was  of  medium  height,  of  a  round  little  figure,  and  her 
whole  appearance  was  strikingly  handsome.  Upon  approaching 
the  couch  where  sat  the  surprised  Charles,  she  threw  herself 


a  spinster's  story.  113 

at  his  feet,  and  clasping  the  folds  of  his  gown,  exclaimed  "  Oh 
I  cannot  thank  you,  but  [  have  prayed  for  a  blessing  !  "  They 
raised  her  from  her  kneeling  posture,  but  refusing  to  remain, 
she  again  expressed  her  gratitude  to  the  admiring  Charles,  and 
retreated  to  the  seclusion  of  her  own  cabin. 

"lam  going  on  deck  now,  mademoiselle,"  said  Lydia,  the 
next  morning,  "  do  come  with  me,  it  is  very  delightful,  and  you 
will  enjoy  the  fresh  air."  Her  knock  at  Beatrice's  door  was 
readily  answered,  and  leading  her  upon  the  deck,  Lydia  contin- 
ued, '-we  call  you  almost  instinctively  mademoiselle,  I  don't 
know  why." 

"  Oh,  il  me  convient  tres  bien ;  "  replied  she,  "  for  my  father 
was  French,  my  mother  was  a  Swiss,  and  I  am  a  native  of  Kings- 
ton, Cuba.  But  I  have  not  lived  there  since  I  was  a  little 
child.  I  went  back  a  year  ago  and  saw  my  parents'  tomb.  I 
wish  you  could  see  the  spot,  it  is  so  beautiful  !  " 

"  Then  you  are  an  orphan." 

"  Oh,  but  I  never  felt  so  ;  ever  since  their  death  I  lived  with 
my  uncle  in  Boston  ;  he  was  father,  brother  and  friend  to  me  ; 
I  was  a  wayward  child,  yet  he  could  always  control  and  interest 
me.  He  was  a  younger  brother  of  my  father's,  very  cheerful 
and  lively,  and  I  seldom  wanted  other  society.  "We  read, 
walked,  and  played  together  ;  but,  like  my  father,  he  was  con- 
sumptive, intended  to  try  the  climate  of  the  south  of  France,  and 
we  were  on  our  way  to  a  relation  in  Havre.  I  have  often 
thought  I  should  not  have  him  lona;,  but  little  imagined  he 
would  leave  me  so  soon  for  a  watery  grave.  Although  I  feel 
assured  he  was  prepared  to  die,  and  he  may  have  been  spared 
much  sickness  and  suffering.  Yes,  it  is  so  very  hard  to  live 
without  him  !  He  was  so  good,  such  a  Christian  ;  I  fear  I  shall 
soon  fall  into  evil  without  him  to  direct  me." 

She  seemed  much  overcome,  and  Lydia  proposed  leaving  the 
deck. 

"  You  are  all  so  very  kind  ;  "  said  she  through  her  tears,  as 
she  took  the  hand  of  Lydia,  and  adding  "  I  shall  feel  better 
soon  ;  "  closed  the  door  of  her  cabin. 

For  many  days  she  wept  for  her  uncle,  but  at  last  her  happy 
spirit  triumphed. 

Those  rescued  from  the  wreck  were  now  quite  recovered,  and 
Charles,  their  deliverer,  declared  himself  perfectly  strong  again. 

Beatrice  was  naturally  very  vivacious,  kind-hearted  and  ami- 
able, and  the  bewitching  manner  that  ever  characterized  her,  soon 
made  her  acquaintance  with  our  travellers  ripen  into  intimacy  ; 
and  as  Mrs.  Villieis  occupied  herself  much  with  Lottie's  books, 


lit  a  spinster's   stobt. 

Charles  and  Lydia  were  thrown  often  with  Beatrice,  who  was 
very  witty  and  amusing;  yet  often  ber  Bpirite  would  droop  fox 
a  time,  and  Bhe  would  ber  great   desire  to  reach  land, 

thai  she  might  exchange  the  costume  Bhe  now  wore,  (and  to 
which  almost  every  lady  on  board  had  gladly  contributed,) for 
t!ic  habiliments  of  mourning. 

"  Oli  Lydia,  I  was  just  wishing  for  you,  do  come  here  ;  "  ex- 
claimed Charles,  as  he  drew  ber  to  a  more  secluded  part  of  the 
deck,  and  continued,  "  I've  been  thinking  of  La  Belle,  and  that 
grandfather  of  ours  ;  I'm  sure  it  must  he  his  intention  to  make 
■  heirs,  or  very  nearly  >> ;  he  has  a  very  line  town  house 
in  Berlin,  too,  we  shall  see  it  before  long,  as  we  arc  going,  you 
know,  directly  to  it  as  we  leave  the  ship.  At  all  events  he  must 
ime  grand  intention  in  sending  for  us,  and  dear  mother 
and  Lydia  can  soon  east  away  their  anxious  faces  for  good. 
Oh,  it  will  be  delightful!" 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Lydia,  hesitatingly  ;  "  Although  I  know  poor, 
dear  ma  is  often  very  much  troubled,  fearing  we  might  be  dis- 
appointed. You  see  she  knows  him  better  than  we  do  ;  in  fact 
her  only  hope  is  that  he  is  changed  from  what  he  was/' 

"  But  Lydia ;  do  you  think  any  one  in  sound  reason  would 
send  for  us  all  these  miles  for  nothing?  " 

"  No  !  I  cannot  think  so." 

"Right.  And  sister  mine,  now  let  me  tell  you,  that  I'm 
sure  of  all  the  ladies  at  the  court  of  Berlin,  not  one  could  I  find 
more  lovely  and  good  than  my  own  sweet  sister.  And  I  like 
to  think  she'd  as  soon  have  a  kiss  from  me  as  any  one  in  the 
world.     Now  Lyddie  love,  one  in  return." 

"  You  would  rather  it  should  come  from  other  lips  on  board," 
said  Lydia  as  she  looked  with  an  arch  glance  to  see  the  effect 
of  her  words.  Charles  bit  his  Up,  then  answered  with  a  candid 
smile, —  "  Perhaps  I  shall  have  it  some  day." 

"  Oh  remember  we  were  going  to  sing." 

"  Yes,  but  I  want  you  to  hear  Beatrice's  voice;  let  us  wait, 
she  will  join  with  us." 

"  Ah  !  L'harmonie  la  plus  donee  est  la  voix  de  celle  qu'on 
aime  !  " 

"  Lydia,  you  can  say  what  you  choose,"  as  the  color  mounted 
to  his  temples  ;  "  I  should  like  to  know  who  could  help  liking 
such  a  beautiful  girl." 

"  Oh,  I'll  allow  she  is  most  lovable  and  good  ;  but  tell  me 
Charles,  have  you  forgotten  the  pretty  Kate  'I  "  laying  her  hand 
upon  his  shoulder, 

"  .She's  a  men.'  piece  of  tinsel,  to  dazzle  for  the  minute." 


a  spinster's  story.  115 

"  How  did  you  like  Anna  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all ;  although  T  loved  the  goodness  that  was  in  her." 

"  Oh,  she  is  a  sweet  girl,  a  rare  jewel." 

"  I  know,  Lyddie  ;  but  there  are  various  kinds  of  jewels,  you 
must  acknowledge.  Here  is  my  opinion.  As  they  appear  to 
me,  the  pretty  Kate  is  a  glittering  spangle  that  would  soon  tar- 
nish in  the  very  spray  that  arose  from  the  sea  of  trouble  ;  your 
Anna  is  a  pearl  that  shows  best  surrounded  by  the  vesture  of 
mourning  ;  you,  Lydia,  are  something  most  precious,  most  love- 
ly, anything  that  is  costly  and  rare  except  the  diamond,  for  that 
is  Beatrice." 

"  Hush  !  here  she  comes." 

"  Listen,  she  is  singing,  did  you  ever  hear  such  a  voice?  " 

The  tone  was  rich  and  full,  as  the  still  air  bore  to  them  the 
silvery  strain. 

"  Say  not  that  I'm  over  romantic 
In  loving  the  wild  and  the  free, 
But  the  waves  of  the  dashing  Atlantic, 
The  Alps,  and  the  Eagle  for  me." 

"Is  that  all,  Beatrice?"  said  Charles  as  sne  tripped  towards 
them. 

"  Oh  no  !  "  continuing, 

"  You  may  talk  of  a  soft  sighing  lover, 
Such  things  may  be  had  by  the  soore  ; 
I'd  rather  be  bride  to  a  rover, 
And  polish  the  rifle  he  bore." 

•'  Ah  Beatrice,  you  will  change  your  opinion;  "  said  Lydia, 
"  remember,  you  are  to  live  in  sunny  France ;  and  in  Paris, 
perhaps." 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell ;  "  replied  Beatrice.  ''  Just  think  of 
it,  I  don't  know  my  cousin's  direction,  and  I've  not  the  least 
idea  how  to  trace  him  ;  but  they  will  hear  of  the  wreck,  and  will 
surely  come,  some  of  them,  to  meet  me." 

"  But  if  they  should  not  come,  what  would  you  do  ?  "  inquired 
Charles,  looking  very  serious. 

"  Oh,  don't  remind  me  of  such  a  dreadful  dilemma,  or  I  shall 
not  forgive  you.  Fancy  me  walking  through  the  streets  in  this 
singular  costume  of  odd  garments  !  "  and  with  a  merry  laugh 
she  exhibited  one  after  another,  the  red  skirt,  blue  mantle,  and 
large  buff  hood  !  "  Then  my  cousins  are  perfect  strangers  to  me, 
and  one  of  them  I  believe  is  a  very  precise  and  eccentric  ohl  bach- 
elor ;  suppose  he  should  come  alone,  and  I  have  to  tell  him  he 


110  A  spinster's    story. 

must  furnish    my  wardrobe   before  T  can  accompany  him!" 
Ami  again  her  musical    laugh  floated  over  the  calm  waters. 

"  There  is  Lottie  playing  with  those  children,"  said  Lydia, 
looking  a<  deck  ;  "  Mamma  must  be  alone,  so  1  will  go 

to  her."      She  was  gone  ;  and  Charles  was  left  alone  with  Bea't- 
rice. 

The  joyous  laugh  had  floated  far  away,  and  all  vestige  of  it 
had  vanished,  as  she  stood  gazing  into  vacancy,  the  expression 
of  troubled  thought  resting  upon  the  beautiful  face,  and  adding 
a  charm  to  the  fascination,  which,  although  she  was  ignorant  of 
it,  always  pervaded  her  presence.  Charles  watched  her  in  ad- 
miration until  he  saw  the  expression  deepen  into  sadness,  and 
going  np  to  her  said  quickly, — 

"  Beatrice,  I've  been  wanting  to  ask  you  something.  I  saw 
a  prayer-book  with  your  name,  and  the  thought  struck  me  you 
might  like  to  join  us  every  morning  and  evening  for  prayers." 

'*  Then  you  don't  think  me  such  a  wild  creature  as  not  to  be 
fit?" 

"  Oh  Beatrice,  don't  talk  so." 

"  Well,  I  will  not,  if  you  will  answer  me  candidly.  Do  you 
want  me  to  come  because  you  think  I'm  such  a  wicked  sinner 
that  I  should  never  think  of  a  time  for  devotion,  or  is  it  because 
you  like  to  have  me  near  you  ?  " 

Her  face  brightened  with  a  roguish  smile  as  she  fixed  her 
dark  eyes  upon  him  with  a  penetration  that  seemed  to  read  the 
very  soul.  The  crimson  mounted  to  his  fair  temples,  and  he 
kept  his  eyes  upon  the  deck,  lest  he  should,  in  glancing  at  her, 
betray  what  was  passing  within  ;  and  as  an  aid  in  controlling 
himself,  he  repeated  to  himself,  "  She's  a  perfect  stranger  to  me, 
I  know  nothing  of  her."     And  in  a  serious  tone  answered, — 

"  Miss  Sauvestre,  you  believe  in  a  God  and  in  a  Saviour, 
have  been  baptised  in  the  same  faith,  and  must  have  many 
opinions  in  common  with  ourselves  ;  and  you  cannot  be  wholly 
indifferent  to  such,  when  you  would  spare  no  trouble  to  visit  a 
poor  forlorn  sailor  in  his  illness,  to  read  and  pray  with  him 
when  no  eye  but  that  of  the  Almighty  could  witness."  Charles 
seemed  pained  at  having  been  misunderstood,  and  Beatrice  ev- 
idently saw  it,  as  he  turned  away. 

"  Oh,  I  have  been  unkind,"  going  up  to  him  ;  "  do  forgive 
me.  Believe  me,  1  do  no!  know  a  greater  pleasure  than  join- 
ing you,  but  I  have  offended  you  !  " 

"  Beatrice,  you  could  not  if  you  were  to  try,"  turning  towards 
her. 

"  You  are  too  patient  with  such  caprice,"  extending  her  hand ; 


a  spinster's  story.  117 

"  I  do  not  deserve  it,"  added  she,  as  her  tears  started,  "you 
have  saved  my  Life  !  " 

"  And  would  gladly  do  so  again.'' 

"  "What,  risk  such  peril  again  for  me  ?     Again  risk  your  life  ?  " 

"Beatrice,  a  thousand  times  again." 

"  The  Wing  of  the  West"  had  nearly  reached  her  destined 
port,  and  it  had  so  happened  that  Charles  was  never  again  with 
Beatrice  without  a  third  person  being  present. 

The  pale  rays  of  a  full  moon  were  shedding  their  calm  light 
over  the  still  waters,  ami  every  cabin  was  deserted  for  the  deck. 

There  was  a  secluded  little  nook  behind  the  wheel-house,  to 
which  our  travellers  generally  resorted  when  many  were  on  deck, 
and  now,  amidst  Lottie's  earnest  entreaties  to  watch  the  moon 
from  the  other  side  of  the  vessel,  they  continued  to  linger  here. 
They  appeared  engrossed  in  the  topics  upon  which  they  were 
speaking ;  and  for  the  first  time  the  subject  of  the  wreck  formed 
one  of  them. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Charles,  "  a  storm  at  sea  is  awfully  grand, 
and  there  is  in  it  a  sublimity  beyond  all  description." 

"  And  the  other  phases  of  the  ocean  are  scarcely  less  lovely," 
remarked  Lydia.  "  Just  look  round  upon  it  now  ;  I  never  saw 
it  more  beautiful  than  to-night ;  and  such  a  glorious  arch  of  the 
blue  heavens  above  us." 

"Yes  !  "  said  Beatrice  ;  "  and  there  is  in  its  magnificence  a 
holy  awe  that  seems  to  inspire  the  gazer  with  a  new  attribute  of 
the  Creator.  How  much  we  have  passed  through  since  we  last 
saw  land  !  what  intense  suffering  !  and  yet  so  far  we  have  been 
preserved  while  so  many  have  perished."  /- 

"  Beatrice,  I  heard  you  singing  that  beautiful  chant  this 
morning,  do  let  us  hear  it  again." 

"  No,  Charles ;  see,  the  deck  is  cleared  now ;  let  us  form  a 
choir  :  yours  can  be  the  baritone,  and  Lydia's  contralto." 

The  favorite  selections  were  sung  ;  and  for  the  last  time  the 
united  voices  arose  from  that  deck,  and  were  borne  by  the  soft 
zephyrs,  far  away  upon  the  ocean's  waste. 

But  when  were  those  voices  to  be  blended  again  ?  and  where  ? 

"  Land  ahoy  !  " 

It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  yet  the  cry  aroused  many 
sleepers  ;  for  those  who  would  have  remained  in  the  arms  of 
Morpheus,  were  prevented  by  the  excitement  of  the  majority, 
who  had  found  a  six  weeks'  voyage  too  tedious  not  to  hasten 
upon  the  deck  to  assure  themselves  of  the  truth. 

Morning  dawned  ;  the  dim  lights  upon  the  distant  land,  told 
they  were  really  nearing  the  harbor ;  the  long  voyage  and  its 


118  a  spinster's  story. 

hazards  were  forgotten,  and  at  five  o'clock,  all  were  astir,  pro- 
paring  for  those  formidable  specimens  of  humanity,  wno,accord- 
ing  to  the  general  gossip,  would  search  your  very  pockets,  charge 
duty  upon  one-half  you  ;  I,  and      ize  the  rest. 

"  ( lharles,  come  upon  de 

"  Lottie,  I  cannot  al  present;  I  am  too  much  amused  here," 
said  he,  directing  again  his  attention  towards  an  old  lady  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  cabin,  giving  the  necessary  instructions  to 
her  maid. 

"  Here,  put  this  in  the  toe  of  my  shoe  ;  surely  they'll  never 
think  of  looking  there  !  And  Jane,  don't  forget  to  fasten  that 
opera  glass  that  was  my  grandmother's,  in  my  round  pocket  that 
ties  behind  me;  audit'  the  German  wretches  dare  to  meddle 
with  it,  I'll  go  to  the  consul." 

Siime  one  called,  "Charles,  Beatrice  wants  you,"  and  in- 
stantly the  old  lady  was  forgotten. 

After  anchoring  at  night-fall  as  they  passed  through  the  Eng- 
lish Channel,  it  was  a  week  before  they  reached  the  Weser. 
The  morning  was  clear  and  beautiful  that  found  them  really  at 
the  end  of  the  long  and  tedious  voyage.  For  the  last  time  Mrs. 
Villiers'  cabin  was  consecrated  as  the  little  sanctuary,  where 
arose  from  every  heart  the  thanksgiving  for  their  preservation 
from  a  watery  grave. 

"  We  none  of  us  know,"  said  the  widow,  as  they  arose  from 
their  knees,  "  what  is  before  us.  Ours  may  be  the  path  of  trial 
and  disappointment;  friends  may  prove  false,  and  hope  long 
deferred  may  at  last  be  crashed  forever,  and  we  left  alone  to 
fall  back  upon  ourselves  ;  and  face,  unguarded  and  uncared  for, 
the  temptations  of  the  world.  Still,  let  us  ever  remember  there 
is  no  want  howsoever  urgent  it  may  be,  no  sorrow  so  poignant, 
but  we  can  pour  it  into  the  confidence  of  heavenly  love  ;  '  Cast- 
ing all  your  care  upon  Him,  for  he  careth  for  you.'  " 

Tiny  had  little,  time  for  conversing  ;  the  Custom  House  officers 
were  already  busy,  and  every  deck  was  a  scene  of  confusion  and 
excitement. 

"  Now,  Charles,  you  can  exercise  your  German  tongue,"  said 
Lydia,  handing  him  a  bunch  of  keys,  "  for  here  are  the  officers." 
Theirs  was  nearly  the  last  baggage  examined,  and  when  they 
returned  to  the  deck  it  was  nearly  cleared,.  An  hour  before,  as 
they  stood  there  they  had  witnessed  many  a  happy  meeting  of 
friends  welcoming  the  weary  travellers ;  but  now  these  had  been 
borne  away  to  the  social  hearth,  and  the  "  Wing  of  the  West  " 
seemed  quite  deserted. 

During  the  morning,  Beatrice  had  been  the  picture  of  vivac- 


a  spinster's  story.  119 

ity,  and  the  merry  rippling  laugh,  and  joyous  countenance, 
seemed  to  inspire  bope  in  the  most  desponding.  In  vain  had 
she  watched  every  inquirer ;  none  came  for  Beatrice:  yet  she 
had  borne  the  disappointment  most  heroically. 

"  Come,  children,"  lid  Mrs.  Villiers,  calling  to  the  group  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  vessel.  As  she  waited,  she  heard  the 
voice  of  lamentation,  as  of  some  one  in  great  distress,  On 
reaching  them,  she  found  Lydia  supporting  the  weeping  Beat- 
rice., Inquiring  the  cause  of  the  tears,  Lydia  looked  up  with  a 
tearful  face  and  exclaimed, — 

''•  Oh,  dear  mother,  poor  Beatrice  begins  to  realize  her  situa- 
tion. Only  think  of  it,  here  she  is  in  a  foreign  land,  without 
anything,  without  a  friend.  Oh,  what  can  we  do,"  and  Lydia's 
tears  mingled  with  her  friend's. 

"  My  dear  child,"'  said  the  widow  as  she  raised  the  head  of 
the  sorrowing  girl,  "  not  so  violently,  love, —  we  are  seldom  so 
very  miserable  as  we  fancy." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  so  very  forlorn  !  I  know  not  where  to  find 
any  of  my  relations  when  I  reach  France,  and  although  my  for- 
tune is  large,  the  papers  are  lost,  the  lawyer  in  Boston  died  just 
as  we  left,  and  should  I  write  there  to  ascertain,  what  am  i  to 
do  in  the  meantime  '!  Oh,  why  was  I  saved  from  the  wreck  to 
suffer  this  wretchedness^  " 

"  Beloved  child,"  continued  the  widow,  "  remember  who  has 
said,  '  I  am  the  Lord  thy  Ood,  which  teacheth  thee  to  profit, 
which  leadeth  thee  by  the  way  that  thou  shouldest  go.'  '  I 
will  be  a  father  unto  you,  and  ye  shall  be  my  sons  and  daugh- 
ters.' '  Cast  thy  burden  upon  the  Lord,  and  he  shall  sustain 
thee.'  " 

Beatrice  kissed  the  cheek  of  the  widow  and  seemed  comforted. 

"  Lottie,  stay  with  Beatrice,  while  Charles  and  Lydia  come 
with  me." 

They  went  in  search  of  the  captain,  to  consult  him  in  regard 
to  the  orphan  girl,  but  without  success  ;  and  were  making  fur- 
ther inquiries,  when  Lottie  called  to  say, 

"  Oh,  I'm  afraid  Beatrice  will  not  come  back,  she  will  lose 
her  way  !  " 

"  Why,  where  has  she  gone?  "  cried  Charles. 

"  Oh,  just  after  you  went  below,  two  gentlemen  came  on 
board,  and  after  talking  together,  one  asked  us  if  we  were 
awaiting  any  one,  and  finding  we  were,  they  asked' several  ques- 
tions, and  one  of  .them  told  Beatrice  he  believed  a  friend  of 
her's  to  be  waiting  at  a  hotel.  She  said  she  would  send  a  mes- 
sage instantly,  when  he  declared  he  saw  the  very  gentleman 


120  A  sriNNii:i;'s   STOBY. 

standing  upon  tbe  dock.  '  Come,  and  assure  yourself,'  said  ho, 
'it',-  but  a  step  from  the  vessel  ;  '  and  Beatrice  descended  with 
him  to  the  dock.  I  saw  her  passing  through  the  crowd,  and 
once  turn  back,  but  he  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  led  her  on 
through  the  bustle,  much  farther  than  he  had  said;  and  they 
have  cone  to  the  left  and  right,  until  I  have  quite  lost  sight  of 
thnn.'" 

"  ( )h  Beatrice,  how  could  you  confide  so  rashly  !  "  and  Charles' 
face  was  the  expression  of  agony. 

"  Mrs.  Villiers,  if  you  are  going  an  overland  route  to  Berlin, 
you  had  better  not  linger  here  any  longer,"  said  an  officer. 

"  True,  sir.     Come,  children,  we  can  do  no  good  here.     Poor 
Beatrice  !     But  perhaps  we  shall   hear  of  her  ;  come,  we  must 
ing." 

They  bade  adieu  to  the  "  Wing  of  the  West,"  and  sadly  and 
silently  passed  to  a  hotel  to  which  they  were  directed.  Little 
inclined  to  partake  of  the  refreshment  before  them,  they  made 
inquiries  concerning  Beatrice  ;  and  they  were  told  a  young  lady 
answering  her  description  had  been  there,  but  finding  no  one 
waiting  for  her,  started  immediately  in  another  direction,  accom- 
panied  by  her  escort. 

••  And,  ma,  she  has  taken  scarcely  any  food  for  two  days," 
said  Lydia,  in  despair. 

"  Ask  this  person  whether  she  knows  anything  of  the  gentle- 
man ?  "  said  Mrs.  Villiers,  turning  to  them  to  interpret  her 
question  in  German.  The  woman  probably  heard,  and  anxious 
to  display  her  knowledge  of  English,  answered, — 

"  Oh.  Maladi,  he  be  one  of  dose  mans,  vat  tell  de  people 
some  hotel  for  to  go,  ven  dem  don't  know  de  place  ;  I  tink  dem 
be  very  bad  mans,  I  hear  dem  say  how  dcy  sheet  people  of  dere 
money." 

"  Oh  Beatrice  !  where  is  she  now  ;  and  she  knows  not  where 
to  direct  to  us  !  We  don't  know  where  she  is  gone,  and  we  must 
go  now  on  our  way.  Oh  Beatrice,  lovely  girl,  when  shall  we 
see  you  again  !  " 

They  entered  the  train,  and  began  their  long,  tedious  journey 
to  Berlin,  At  last  Charles  broke  the  gloomy  silence  by  sud- 
denly exclaiming,  "  Oh  Lydia,  there  was  a  letter  waiting  for 
me  from  Miss  Kate  Danvers,  I  think  she  might  have  waited 
until  I  asked  her  to  write ;  how  ridiculous  some  girls  make 
themselves  !  " 

"  Did  she  mention  Anna  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  —  she  writes  she  is  not  in  the  city  ;  but  that 
she  has  heard  Anna  is  engaged  to  Mr.  Everett.  I  would  give 
you  the  letter  to  read,  but  I  tore  it  and  threw  it  away." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"Indeed,  I  cannot  love  nimr 
And  you  will  drive  this  wretched  brain  to  madness. 
Oh  save  —  relent!  or  strike  the  blow 
To  end  this  life  of  misery  and  tears," 

"  Alfred,  come  in  here  ;  I've  something  particular  to  say  to 
you,"  said  Susan,  one  evening,  as  she  heard  his  footsteps  in  the 
hall. 

It  was  late ;  and  Alfred  was  faint  and  exhausted  :  in  vain 
had  ho  watched  the  newspapers,  and  expended  all  his  little 
stock  of  money  in  advertising.  No  opportunity  had  offered  ; 
and  saddened  and  disappointed,  he  at  last  bent  his  weary  steps 
homeward.  Susan  had  told  them  in  the  morning,  it  would  be 
the  last  night  they  would  sleep  in  that  house,  and  he  had  been 
dwelling  upon  the  unkind  treatment  for  some  time,  when  he 
asked  himself  whether  he  was  not  to  blame  in  the  matter ;  and 
he  saw  how  superior  Anna's  judgment  was  to  his,  when,  with  an 
unruffled  temper,  and  untiring  patience,  she  would  every  day 
brook  what  would  instantly  rouse  him  into  a  rage  ;  and  that  he 
alone  might  have  been  the  means  of  creating  Susan's  dislike  to 
them,  and  in  the  end  of  casting  his  beloved  Anna  friendless, 
into  the  streets.  And  what  could  be  done,  should  they  at  last 
wander  at  night-fall  in  quest  of  a  shelter  V  Then  he  pictured 
the  cozy  little  home  of  the  singular  Barrows,  which  would  offer 
them  a  welcome  most  gladly,  but  Anna  must  then  be  a  sacrifice 
to  that  odious  little  old  man,  and  Alfred  shuddered  at  the 
thought.     Then  there  was  no  hope,  no  resource  but  despair. 

He  entered,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  Dear  me  !  you've  sat  yourself  right  upon  my  new  pattern, 
and  I  paid  a  shilling  for  it." 

He  arose  and  went  to  a  sofa. 

"  Bless  the  boy  !  Why,  I  do  believe  there's  my  bonnet 
shape  behind  you,  I  dare  say  you  have  squeezed  it  to  death." 

Again  he  moved. 

"  There  !  just  like  boys,  always  in  mischief.  Couldn't  you 
see  the  lace  spread  over  the  back  of  that  chair,  do  you  think 
rubbing  your  dusty  coat  against  it  will  improve  it  ?  " 

"  "Well,  Susan,  I'll  stand,"  in  a  tired  tone,  as  he  leaned  the 
weary  limbs  against  the  wall.  "  What  did  you  want  me  for, 
please  ?  " 

6 


1__  A    SPI2TSTKRS    STORY. 

"  Oli,  Ufi  •  1.  v  i  kn  iw  I  told  you  ibis  morning  you  were  to 
be  turned  away,  both  of  you,  to-morrow  —  " 

"  Susan,"  and  the  voice  tremble  1  with  exhaustion  and  emo- 
tion, "  I  know  we've  not  the  means  to  pay  you,  but  what  we 
receive  costs  you  no  inconvenience,  or  self-denial ;  and  you  may 
be  sure,  whatever  we  might  receive  from  you,  should  it  ever  he 
in  our  power,  would  be  amply  repaid.  And  Susan,  let  me  tell 
yon,  T  don't  believe  all  h:is  been  fair  and  just  in  your  dealin  .  - 
with  us,  but  of  that  you  know  best.  Our  things  can  soon  be 
ready,  we  have  very  little  belonging  to  us.  We  will  go  now 
and  leave  the  re>t  to  heaven." 

Susan  was  quite  confounded  at  the  calm  dignity  of  his  man- 
ner, and  completely  overawed,  she  sat  looking  at  his  earnest 
countenance  in  profound  amazement,  then  answered  quickly  — 

"Oh,  but  something  has  happened — ami  as  to  our  being 
paid  sometime,  what  hope  is  there,  when  your  father  is  dead  V  " 

"Dead!  When  did  you  hear?  tell  me.  Where  did  my 
father  die  ?  How  long  ago  ?  "  His  loud,  distracted  tone  brought 
the  head  and  shoulders  of  Mrs.  Gilbert  in  at.  the  door. 

,fMy  father  deal  !   and  that  is  what   has  happened  !  " 

"  Oh  no.  it  is  not.  What  has  been  happening  to-day  is  of 
much  more  consequence  than  your  dead  father;  because,  by  it 
you  and  Anna  are  quite  independent." 

"  Independent !     II  »w  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  are  not  going  to  be  sent  away  from  here,  you  can 
stay  if  you  choose,  or  come  with  us  to  a  good,  comfortable  home, 
it  is  all  settled  —  was  to-day,  hud  w  •  ar  \  g  ling  to  live  —  all  of 
us  four,  at  Mrs.  Barrow's.  But  Alfred,  you  must  not  annoy 
Anna  about  it,  say  nothing  to  her  —  von  know  it  was  the  best 
thing — .she  was  quite  ready  to  consent,  so  it  was  best  to  have 
it  done  at  once  —  [  mean  Mr.  Everett  was  here,  and  it  is  over, 
you  know  he  is  a  good  men  and  would  do  nothing  wrong." 

"  What '!  "  uttered  Alfred,  as  he  raised  himself  as  one  awaken- 
ing from  a  lethargy,  and  throwing  himself  back  as  he  lifted  his 
eyes  in  agony  to  the  ceiling,  he  shut  the  door  with  such  force, 
that  it  not  only  removed  Mrs.  Gilbert's  cap  and  locks  to  the 
floor,  but  squeezed  and  bruised  her  shoulders  and  neck  until 
she  shrieked  again.  '  What,  despicable  woman  !  "  continued  he 
approaching  Susan  — "  and  have  you  forced  —  driven  to  madni  ss, 
this  quiet,  submissive  creature,  who  would  not  hurt  a  hair  of 
your  unworthy  head  ?  And  do  you  know,  Susan  Gilbert,  miser- 
ble  woman,  that  you  must  answer  for  this  at  the  great  judgment? 
Aye.  an  I  I  ofore  that,  even  on  this  stage  of  existence,  for  re- 
member, I  cannot  be  found  so  submissive  a  victim  as  poor  Anna 


a  spixster's  story.  123 

I  will  expose  you —  Twill  —  but  where  is  Anna?  I  must  go 
to  her,  tear  her  from  him  —  an  allegiance  forced  is  nothing  — 
it  shall  be  undone — Anna  shall  be  free  from  his  clutches  — 
I'll  go.     Oh  my  unhappy  Anna  !  " 

"  Do  not  rave  so.  Indeed,  Anna  is  here  !  "  Susan  raised 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  for  some  time 
been  in  a  fit.  of  hysterics. 

"  Susan,  don't  be  a  hypocrite  as  well  as  that  Pyke  ;  oh  how 
I  despise  the  whole  set  of  you  !  But  Anna,  where  did  you  say 
she  was?     Speak  — make  haste  !  " 

"In  her  room,  of  course.     Alfred,  I  am  quite  ill." 

"  And  where  is  Barrow  ?" 

"  In  his  bed,  I  should  think.  Where  else  would  you  have 
him  at  this  hour  ?  " 

"  When  did  it  take  place,  and  where  has  Anna  been  since?" 

"  As  soon  as  it  was  over,  she  went  to  her  room,  has  been 
there  ever  since  ;  "  seeming  convulsed  with  sobs. 

"  Then  Anna,  you  are  safe  !  Oh  Anna,  my  sweet  sister,  and 
I  was  not  here  —  no  one  near  you  to  know  your  misery  —  to 
feel  your  woe  !  " 

He  flew  to  her  door ;  it  was  fastened,  and  receiving  no  an- 
swer, thought  she  had  fallen  asleep  to  forget  for  a  while  her 
sorrows  ;  exclaiming  in  a  low  tone  "  God  bless  you,  my  An- 
na," he  ascended  to  his  little  chamber  above.  All  was  as  he 
had  left  it  in  the  morning.  The  unmade  bed,  strewn  books  and 
papers,  told  plainly  no  Anna  had  been  there  that  day.  Again 
he  returned  to  her  door,  knocked  louder  than  before,  yet  no 
sound  from  within,  and  fearing  to  awake  her,  he  calmed  and 
contented  himself  for  the  night,  and  commending  himself  and 
Anna  to  an  Almighty  providence,  laid  the  throbbing  head  upon 
his  pillow. 

But  what  was  it  that  had  happened  that  day  at  Mrs.  Gilbert's  ? 

That  morning,  soon  after  Alfred  had  gone,  as  Anna  entered 
Susan's  room  to  set  it  in  order,  she  found  her,  for  a  wonder, 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  apparently  in  deep  thought. 

On  seeing  Anna,  she  turned  quickly,  and  said  in  a  hurried 
tone,  "  Anna,  make  haste  and  come  down  stairs,  don't  wait  for 
anything ;  you  know  this  is  the  last  day  you  are  to  be  here, 
and  we  want  to  hear  what  you  intend  to  do.  You  need  not 
look  surprised,  I  told  you  so  before  ;  but  I  have  been  so  lenient 
to  you  always,  that  I  suppose  you  thought  you  could  do  just  as 
you  like  with  me.  But  I'm  not  going  to  stand  it  any  longer. 
Why  should  I  deprive  myself  of  the  necessaries  of  life  to  keep 
you  in  indolence,  and  stuff  and  cram  a  great  hungry  fellow  like 


L24  A    SriXSTERS    STORY. 

that  Alfred?  There's  Miss  Pyke,  whq  had  an  offer  yesterday, 
just  because  she  always  has  the  appearance  of  a  more  fashiona- 
ble lady  than  !  can  Bui  come  along,  ['ve  a  great  deal  to  say 
to  you,  and  don't  want  to  tire  myself  out  now." 

A nii.i  had  been  too  ill  for  some  days  to  care  for  anything, 
and  so  totally  wn  tched  that  she  seemed  to  take  little  interest  in 
whatever  might  happen  iu  regard  to  herself;  still,  for  Alfred, 
she  was  yel  hopeful,  and  longed  that  something  would  occur  to 
prevenl  Susan's  putting  her  threat  into  execution.  But  this 
was  the  last  day,  and  no  letter,  no  tidings  fiom  their  father  ;  so, 
careless  and  indifferent  of  herself,  and  thinking  only  of  Alfred, 
she  descended  to  hear  their  doom. 

Mrs.  Gilbert  reclined  with  all  the  ease  of  an  Eastern  queen 
in  an  arm-chair,  that  from  its  dimensions,  must  have  been  the 
possession  of  her  great-grandmother,  if  its  history  could  not 
have  been  traced  farther  back.  On  Anna's  closing  the  door, 
the  cap  wassu  Idenly  thrust  forward,  and  the  old  lady  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  Anna,  we  want  to  know  what  ynu  arc  going  to  do  when 
you  and  Alfred  leave  here  to-morrow  morning?" 

'•  Now,  mother,  that's  not  the  way  to  begin.  Leave  her  to 
inc.  Anna,  we  mean,  what  are  you  going  to  do  all  your 
life  ?  "  And  Susan  came  and  stood  before  her,  watching  intently 
every  change  in  the  pale  countenance. 

Anna  made  no  reply,  but  gazed  earnestly  upon  the  stem 
features  of  the  hard-hearted  woman. 

"  Anna,  answer  me,"  continued  Susan.  "  Tell  me  at  once, — 
do  you  intend  to  be  married,  or  to  live  a  poor,  miserable,  for- 
lorn, solitary  existence,  wandering  the  streets  for  a  shelter?  " 

"  Wandering  the  streets  for  a  shelter  !  "  came  a  voice  from 
the  arm  chair  in  the  corner. 

"  Neglected  and  despised  because  we  had  turned  you  away. 
Now  you  can  prevent  all  this,  if  you  will." 

"Prevent  it?  How  can  I?  Oh,  tell  me!"  and  Anna 
buried  her  face  in  the  folds  of  the  coarse  dress  that  fell  around 
her  thin,  slender  figure. 

"  I  will  tell  you  ;  "  answered  Susan.  A  gentleman  has  made 
you  a  very  excellent  offer ;  he  has  said  nothing  to  you  about  it, 
because  we  are  your  guardians,  and  he  came  very  properly  and 
consulted  us.     And  that  was  very  honorable." 

"  Very  honorable  !  "  echoed  the  chair  iu  the  corner. 

"  So  you  see,"  added  Susan,  "  it  is  in  your  power  to  make 
Alfred  respectable  and  happy,  for  he  thinks  the  world  of  Alfred, 
and  would  treat  him  as  a  brother." 

"  But  who   is   it  V      and  Anna  lifted  the   tearful  face  to  the 


a  spinster's  story.  125 

vehement  woman.  "Oh  yes,  I  know!  "Bit  Susan,  it  would 
kill  mo  !  And  but  for  Alfred  1  wish  I  could  die  !  "  ami  her 
tears  flowed  afresh. 

"  Anna,  don't  talk  of  Alfred,  you  don't  care  for  him,  or  you'd 
not  think  so  much  of  yourself.  The  thing  is  this  ;  you  imagine 
no  one  is  good  enough  for  you  ;  I  know  you  think  that,  Anna. 
Now  tell  me,  what  there  is  to  dislike  in  Mr.  Everett'!1  " 

••  Mr.  Everett  !    Oil,  is  it  Ik;'.'  " 

"  Anna,  what  a  conceited  girl  you  must  be  to  suppose  Mr. 
Everett  could  like  you,  when  a  moment  ago,  you  committed 
suicide  by  saying  you  wished  you  were  dead." 

"  Oh.  Susan,  for  pity's  sake  don't  trifle  with  me.  Indeed, 
if  you  only  knew  what  I  am  suffering,  you  could  not  talk  so  !  " 

"  Then  it  is  Mr.  Barrow  ;  "  and  her  tone  softened  as  she  con- 
tinued, "  and  there's  not  a  kinder  creature  in  the  world,  and  we 
are  going  to  live  with  you,  to  take  care  of  you  and  Alfred,  upon 
whom  I  dare  say  he  will  settle  some  handsome  sum,  and  make 
him  some  great  man  or  other,  for  he's  very  good-natured  ;  "  — 

"  Handsome  sum  — great  man  —  very  good-natured  — "  add- 
ed the  arm-chair. 

"  Then  think  of  it,  Anna  ;  you  will  have  a  nice  house  to  or- 
der and  arrange  just  to  your  own  taste,  with  everything  you 
could  wish  for  — " 

"  But  think  of  him  !  oh,  I  wish  I  could  die  !  Susan  —  don't 
press  me  on,  one  day  you  will  hear  Anna  lias  really  committed 
suicide. 

"  Has  she,  indeed  ?  "  and  the  old  lady  who  had  been  dozing, 
started  to  know  more  of  the  suicide. 

"  Oh,  as  to  him,"  answered  Susan,  "  he'll  be  paralyzed  all 
over  before  long,  I've  no  doubt ;  at  any  rate  be  is  old,  he'll  die 
soon,  and  then  you'll  have  all  the  good  things  to  yourself.  Be- 
sides, whichever  way  it  is,  you  need  not  mind  him,  you  know  I 
shall  be  with  you,"  patting  her  on  the  shoulder,  "and  when  he 
has  the  rheumatism,  gout,  cramp,  or  any  such  nuisance,  why 
we  can  wrap  him  in  a  blanket  to  smother  his  groans,  while  we 
go  for  an  airing  in  the  open  carriage.  Then  as  to  that  mother 
of  his,  why  she's  in  her  dotage  now,  goodness  knows  what  she'll 
be  in  a  few  years'  time." 

Susan  paused  in  her  harangue,  and  looked  with  surprise  at 
Anna,  who  appeared  as  uninfluenced  by  her  mild,  confidential 
tone,  as  by  her  vehement  threats  ;  and  fearing  she  should  be 
baffled,  and  lose  the  great  scheme  of  her  ambition",  she  placed 
her  heavy  hands  upon  Anna's  shoulders,  and  said,  while  with 
difficulty  she  suppressed  the  rage  that  was  struggling  within 
her  — 


12G  A    SPINSTERS    STORY. 

••  \>m:i  Wentworth,  there  are  two  evils  from  which  you  can 
choose.  One  is  nothing  but  a  little  old  man  to  tolerate  some* 
times  when  be  is  at  borne, —  quite  a  little  evil;  and  the  other 
great  misery  is  —  seeing  Alfred  wretched  and  despised.  Goto 
your  room,  and  think  it  over;  see  which  you  love  the  better, 
Alfred  or  yourself.  And  Anna,  remember,  every  girl  has  one 
opportunity  in  her  lifetime  to  make  a  good  match,  and  never 
in  ire  than  one.  Now  tins  is  yours;  don't  stand  there  looking 
p  itrifi  id,  but  go  and  decide." 

Anna   went    to   her  room.      For  a  while,  all  that  Susan   had 

said  passed  before  her  as  a  mass  of  indefinable  ideas,  as  she_stood 

ivoring  lo  recall  what  had  happened.     Then,  as  the  horror 

of  either  choice   came  over  her,  falling  upon   her  knees  beside 

her  little  boil,  she  buried  her  tears  in  the  coverlid. 

It  was  noon  ;  the  sun  shone  brightly  into  the  little  chamber. 
Three  successive  hours  had  found  Anna  in  the  same  position  ; 
but  now  she  arose.  Her  choice  was  made ;  and  in  the  placid 
countenance  there  rested  a  fixed  determination  to  carry  it  into 
effect.  Alfred  was  all  in  the  world  to  her,  and  with  his  image 
before  her,  she  was  strentrthened  and  stimulated  for  the  coming 
trial. 

She  was  about  to  leave  the  room  when  a  sudden  thought 
struck  her,  and  taking  up  the  little  prayer  book,  which  had  her 
mother's  name  upon  the  clasp,  she  turned  to  the  marriage  cer- 
emony.  Her  eye  fell  upon  the  words,  "  For  better  for  worse, 
for  richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  to  love,  cherish, 
and  to  obey,  till  death  us  do  part,  according  to  God's  holy  or- 
dinance." 

••  How  could  T  utter  such  vows  for  one  I  so  abhorred  !  " 
Then  came  again  the  frank,  open  countenance  of  Alfred,  and  the 
doubt,  fear,  and  perplexity,  harassing  the  perturbed  soul.  She 
again  had  recourse  to  her  tears,  and  then  knelt  to  calm  her 
feelings  into  prayer. 

Susan  wished  to  know  what  had  been  the  real  effect  of  her 
words;  and  nothing  short  of  a  long  consultation  with  Miss  Pyke, 
could  have  kept  her  from  Anna's  room  so  long.  But  now  that 
la  ly  had  at  las"  said  "  good-by,"  and  Susan  did  not  forget  to 
tip  gently  at  the  door  of  the  little  chamber,  for  in  case  Anna 
si  tul  I  ever  be  Mrs.  Robert  Barrow,  it  would  be  best  to  show 
the  respect  her  position  demanded.  However,  she  soon  allowed 
her  impatience  to  overcome  the  resolution  to  be  respectful,  as, 
upon  finding  Anna  did  not  answer  her  knock  instantly,  she 
bounded  into  the  room. 

"  Right,  Anna,  quite  right,  dear  girl.  I  see,  by  the  open  pray- 
er book,  what  your  choice  has  been." 


A    SPIN  ST  Kit's    STOUY.  127 

"  Nb,«  Susan,  it  cannot  be  my  choice,"  raising  the  swollen 
eyes  to  the  ecstatic  countenance  before  berj  "  read  there  what 
is  required,  and  can  you,  in  any  honesty,  so  conjure  me  to  such 
u  promise?  To  pie  Ige  in  jest  or  deceit,  what  is  a  sacred  ordi- 
nance in  the  sight  of  G-od  ?  " 

"Oh,  as  to  that  —  but  hark!  Here's  Sally  Pyke  coming 
up  stairs.      Yes,  here  she  is." 

!l  required  some  delay  for  Miss  Pyke  to  regain  her  breath. 
During  which  time  Susan  repeated  to  her  Anna's  objection  to 
making  the  desirable  choice. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  the  visitor,  taking  her  trembling  hand 
"  I  know  exactly  how  you  feel  ;  indeed,  I've  felt  just  the  same, 
myself." 

"  But,  Anna,"  interposed  Susan,  "  he  never  asked  you  to 
love  him,  did  he?  and  who  in  the  world  can  expect  to  have 
what  be  doesn't  ask  for?  " 

"  Ah,  but  my  dear  Susan,"  and  the  tone  told  the  breath  was 
quite  recovered,  ."  you  don't  quite  understand  the  dear  girl,  but 
I  do,''  with  a  sigh,  "oh,  yes.  perfectly.  I  see,  like  me  she 
looks  at  every  thing  in  a  pious  light,  no  matter  what  it  is.  But, 
Anna.  t  will  tell  you.  People  .don't  get  married  because  it  is 
the  will  of  Ilia ven  that  they  should,  but  because  it  is  a  sort  of 
respectable  and  convenient  thing.  Men  like  it,  because  they 
are  by  nature  rash  and  impetuous,  and  like  to  be  accepted; 
and  we, —  well,  you  know  I  have  told  you,  it's  all  we  can  do, 
and  the  very  best  thing  for  us." 

"Now,  Sally  Pyke, —  I  mean  Miss  Sarah  Christiana  Pyke, 
tell  her  about  '  serving  him,'  in  case  that  should  trouble  her." 

"  Is  that  one  of  the  requirements'?  The  fact  is,  I  never  suffer 
myself  to  read  over  the  matrimonial  service  — -it  makes  me  feel 
so  very  unhappy  ;  and  I  am  afraid  to  shed  many  tears  for  fear 
losing  so  much  moisture  might  in  time  produce  brain  fever. 
But  let  me  see  ;  oh,  yes  to  be  sure,  the  clergyman  will  ask  you, 
'  Wilt  thou  obey  him,  and  serve  him,  love,  honor  and  keep  him 
in  sickness  and  in  health,  and,  forsaking  all  others,  keep  thee 
only  unto  him,  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live  ? '  Now,  obey  and 
serve  are  both  the  same  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  ceremony  is  over, 
you  know  you  two  are  one  ;  consequently,  when  you  serve  your- 
self, (as  you  are  doing  in  the  whole  -affair)  you  will  be  serving 
him.  As  to  loving  and  honoring  him,  of  course  it  would  not  be 
expected  with  any  one  so  disgusting  and  loathsome.  Then  the 
best  way  to  '  keep  '  him  would  be  in  a  room  by  himself,  and 
I've  no  doubt  my  dear  friend,  Susan,  will  assist  you  to  do  that, 
'  so  long  as  ye  both  shall  live,'  which  can't  be  very  long,  for  by 


128  a  spinster's    story. 

my  own  memory,  he  has  been  tottering  on  the  verge  of  the 
crave  these  forty  years, —  that  is,  I  have  heard  so,"  recollect- 
ing her  age  was  at  stake. 

"  Well,  there's  no  other  difficulty,  T  believe  ;  "  remarked  Su- 
san with  a  satisfied  air.  "  Sally,  1  mean  Miss  Pyke,  did  you  or- 
der the  cards ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear ;  T  never  neglect  anything  so  important, 
I  expect  they  are  all  printed  by  this  time." 

Anna  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  turned  paler,  but  said  nothing. 

Susan  turned  to  her  and  began  again.  "  Oh,  Anna,  we  shall 
be  the  bride's  maids  of  course  ;  what  do  you  wish  us  to  wear  ?  " 

"  Why,  Susan,  you  mast  have  blue,  as  pink  suits  my  complex- 
ion best.  Although  a  gentleman  once  told  me  I  looked  like 
bees'  wax,  of  course  he  meant  after  it  was  clarified  and  made 
white,  and  I  remember  I  wore  that  eveniog  a  purple  dress-. 
Still,  I  prefer  pink;  purple  will  do  when  I'm  old." 

"  Blue  is  very  common,  Sarah  Christiana,  [  think  I  will  have 
a  yellow  Ixxlice,  with  a  red  skirt  like  a  train,  and  green  trim- 
mings ;  and  heavy  blue  feathers  in  my  hair  >  they're  not  so 
common  as  flowers." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  ;  I  prefer  a  long  veil  like  a  bride,  and  ring- 
lets at  the  back  of  my  head  the  same  as  these  in  front,  with  a 
little  orange  blossom  mingled  with  each  curl," 

"  It  must  be  getting  late,  Sally  Christiana, —  come,  you  know 
we  have  something  to  arrange. 

"  I  could  see  what  the  time  is,"  was  Miss  Pyke's  answer,. 
"  but  my  watch  is  a  little  out  of  order.  It  is  a  very  excellent  one,, 
only  the  hair  spring  is  broken,  and  one  of  the  hands  was  lost,. 
when  I  dropped  it  and  bent  the  case  and  cracked  the  glass  to 
pieces  ;  but  that's  all  the  matter  with  it.  Oh,  what's  the  reason: 
Anna  looks  so  deathdiko,  is  she  fainting?  " 

"  Oh  no;  come  along  !  Sho  has  been  like  that  all  day." 

"  My  dear  Anna,"  said  Miss  Pyke,  going  up  to  her  and  tak- 
ing her  hand  ;  "  I  know  too  well  how  very  wretchedly  you  feel ; 
indeed,  I  can  truly  sympathize  with  you.  I  know  you  feel  the 
more  you  will  see  of  him  the  more  you  will  hate  him,  and  nev- 
er be  able  to  bear  the  thought  of  his  coming  near  you.  Yes, 
dear  child,  I  know  it  all;"  and  as  usual  when  she  desired  to 
appear  very  pathetic,  her  voice  fell  into  the  minor  key.  "  But 
then  whoever  you  married,  your  life  must  bo  one  of  subordina* 
tion,  for,  unfortunate  for  us,  it  is  our  lot ;  ah  !  yes,"  and  the 
sigh  was  deeper,  "  ours  is  a  very  hard  lot.  So  you  see  I  can 
really  pity  you,  ami  would  not  for  worlds  advise  you  to  do  any- 
thing that  would   not  make  you  the  most  happy ;  for,  imagine 


a  srrxsTEn's  story.  129 

ju-t  a  moment,  that  you  have  discarded  this  excellent  opportunity, 
and  rejected  the  only  good  offor  you  can  ever  bave ;  and  look 
upon  Alfred  you  love  so  ten  lerly,  wretched  an  I  forlorn,  pining 
into  the  grave  from  neglect  an  1  w  mt  ;  and  think  how  you  would 
reproach  yourself;  why,  Anna,  it  would  drive  you  to  madn  iss, 
and  nothing  but  the  earnest  wish  to  save  you  this  dreadful  re- 
in >rse,  prompts  me  to  speak  as  I  do.     But  we  must  go." 

Insensible  as  Annaseemed,  she  was  aware  of  their  departure, 
for  she  cast  a  glance  of  contemptuous  pity  upon  the  two,  as  they 
left  the  room, 

"  Indeed,  it  is  true,"  said  sin;  to  herself,  "the  remorse  would 
be  intolerable  ;  }Tet  when  I  think  of  thai  man  !      But  Alfred  !  " 

The  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  throwing  their  golden 
beauty  upon  all  without.  Yet  its  bright  beams  entered  not  the 
gloomy  parlor  of  Mrs.  Gilbert;  for  it  was  soon  to  be  the  sc 
of  business  and  all  was  the  bustle  of  preparation.  A  carriage 
Stopped  at  the  dour  ;  a  very  tottery  little  old  gentleman,  and  a 
still  more  feeble  old  lady  alighted,  and  were  welcomed  by  .Mrs. 
Gilbert  ami  daughter,  assisted  by  Miss  Pyke.  All  were  seated 
with  due  ceremony,  when  Susan  broke  the  silence. 

"  L  think  that's  Mr.  Everett  ;  I'll  go  for  Anna,  there's  no 
time  to  be  lost."  She  was  soon  in  the  little  room  above. 
"  What,  not  dressed,  Anna  '.  Here,  bathe  your  face,  while  I 
arrange  your  hair.  There,  that  will  do  ;  now  put  on  that  red 
dress  I  gave  you.  Anna,  you  seem  asleep  !  What  ails  you,  girl  ? 
Make  haste  and  come  along  !  " 

"Where?     What  for  V 

"  Why,  it's  Mr.  Barrow's  wish  you  should  be  engaged  imme- 
diately ;  that's  all.  And  I'm  very  glad  he  thought  of  it,  as 
you  need  be  no  longer  troubled  with  wavering  ;  you  will  be 
bound,  and  cannot  keep  changing  your  mind  ;  and  it  will  be  a 
great  comfort  to  you.     Come  !  " 

"  Oh,  let  me  wait  for  Alfred  !  "  drawing  back. 

"  Anna  1  "  and  all  the  symptoms  of  suppressed  rage  arose  in 
the  countenance  of  the  angry  woman,  as  she  still  held  in  her 
tight  grasp  the  hand  of  the  trembling  girl,  whose  lips  moved 
,  without  a  sound,  while  the  large  eyes  were  fastened  in  agony 
upon  the  enraged  Susan.  Again  the  lips  quivered,  and  she 
endeavored  to  free  herself  from  that  iron  grasp.  But  her  feeble 
strength  was  nothing  for  Susan  to  overcome  ;  and  partly  dragged, 
partly  carried,  she  was  soon  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  where,  from 
the  pain  of  Susan's  rough  treatment,  she  shrieked  "  Alfred  !  " 
and  sunk  upon  the  floor.  But  S  isau  was  ready  as  she  was 
rough,  and  throwing  the  strong  arms  round  the  slender  form, 
C* 


130  a  spinstee's  story. 

quickly  raised  her  to  her  feet ;  and  endeavored  to  lift  her  into 
room. 

"No!  Don'l  touch  me  ['11  go  by  myself !  "  There  was 
the  full  working  of  desperation  in  the  look  and  tone  ;  and  with 
colorless  lips  closely  compresse  1,  she  firmly  turned  the  han- 
dle of  the  door  and  entered,  followed  by  Susan. 

There  was  a  dignity  about  the  marble  countenance,  as  she 
I  th  ire  in  tin-  middle  of  the  floor  and  gazed  wildly  around 
her,  that  filled  those  spectators  with  awe,  and  made  them  shrink 
from  the  penetration  of  those  full,  blue  eyes.  Yet  Miss  Pyke 
was  not  easily  daunted  ;  she  arose  and  kissed  the  cold  cheek, 
while  Susan,  putting  her  arm  affectionately  round  her  waist, 
]il  iced  a  chair  next  the  little  old  man,  and  seated  Anna  upon  it. 
If  •  endeavored  to  rise,  bat  at  that  moment  his  limbs  would  not 
allow  if,  and  as  his  arms  were  too  short  to  reach  Anna's  chair, 
v  i  i  saved  the  annoyance  of  his  caresses. 

No  one  spoke  ;  yet  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  Anna,  who  sat 
staring  into  vacancy. 

Snsan  again  left  the  room,  but  this  time,  knocked  at  the  door 
of  Mr.  Everett.  There  was  the  usual  deliberate  "  Come  in," 
and  Susan  entered.  The  young  minister  was  preparing  a  ser- 
mon, and  his  little  table  was  filled  with  open  books  and  papers. 
i  [e  looked  up  in  astonishment  as  Susan  entered;  in  an  excited 
tone  she  addressed  him, — 

"  Mr.  Everett,  sir,  I've  come — I  mean  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
—  that  is,  will  you  grant  us  a  favor  —  or  rather,  Anna  a  favor. 
Mr.  Barrow  is  here,  all  are  here  waiting, —  but  I  forget,  sir, 
you  did  not  know,  no,  of  course  you  did  not  —  that  Anna  de- 
-  so  much  to  be  married,  and  we  don't  like  to  oppose  the  dear 
girl,  although  we  knew  nothing  of  her  wish  until  to-day;  I 
think  it's  remarkable  how  girls  always  keep  such  things  to 
themselves.  But  will  you  please  to  come,  sir?"  Her  listener 
betrayed  all  the  appearance  of  one  completely  transfixed,  as  he 
gazed  upon  her  in  mute  astonishment;  then  uttered,  as  if  half 
to  himself  — 

"  Going  to  be  married  —  what,  Anna  ?    To  whom  ?    When  ?  " 

"  Oh,  do  just  please  to  come  in,  sir.it  won't  take  a  moment," 
pulling  him  by  the  arm,  "  We  don't  like  to  thwart  her,  when 
she's  so  amiable  and  good,  and  besides,  as  she  is  so  very  desti- 
tute, it's  a  most  excellent  match  for  her.  Come,  sir."  She 
continued  to  clench  his  coat  sleeve,  until  she  found  he  was 
rising,  heedless  of  whether  she  grasped  the  flesh  beneath  it,  or 
not.  However,  with  the  same  bewildered  expression  he  follow- 
ed her  into  the  parlor. 


a  spinster's  story.  131 

No  wonder  lie  gazed  as  otic  stupefied  upon  the  scene  before 
him ;  so  strange  was  the  medley  of  the  ludicrous  with  what  was 
truly  painful,  that  it  had  more  the  appearance  of  a  tableau  than 
sober  reality. 

Before  him  was  Anna  ;  and  he  looked  in  amazement  upon 
that  image  of  despair.  On  a  sofa  sat,  or  rather  reclined,  the 
two  friends,  Miss  Pyke  and  Susan,  attired  in  the  most  groiosque 
of  costumes  to  be  imagined  in  the  modern  ages.  Behind  the 
door  wis  seated  Mr3.  Gilbert,  her  hands  tightly  clasped  upon 
her  knee,  and  her  eyes  raised  to  the  ceiling  So  unexpectedly 
had  she  been  summoned  by  Susan,  that  only  one  half  of  her  toi- 
let had  been  completed.  Consequenely,  the  sleeves,  rolled  up 
to  the  elbows,  just  as  she  had  escap  sd  from  the  kitchen,  and  en- 
tire state  of  dishevelment,  contrasted  greatly  with  the  huge 
wreath  of  artificial  fl  iwers  of  every  hue  that  encircled  the  head, 
and  seemed  the  representation  of  some  new  idea  lately  introduced 
into  the  science  of  mythology.  In  an  arm-chair  by  a  window, 
rested  the  diminutive  figure  of  a  man  ;  who,  as  the  light  fell 
upon  him,  could  not  be  mistaken  by  any  one  whose  fate  it  had 
ever  been  to  look  before  upon  Robert  Barrow,  Esq.  In  a  little 
recess  by  the  fire-place,  sat  an  emaciated  form,  very  erect,  and 
so  little  of  it  rested  upon  the  chair,  that  it  had  more  the  appear- 
ance of  standing.  The  robe  that  encircled"  it,  was  principally 
black,  while  the  face  was  certainly  more  that  of  a  corpse  than 
of  any  living  creature,  while  the  head,  neck,  and  arms  were 
tightly  bound  in  pieces  of  cloth,  and  gave  the  whole  the  appear- 
ance of  some  mummy  brought  from  afar;  for  Mr.  Everett,  of 
course,  did  not  know  Mrs.  Barrow  wore  beneath  that  robe  a  still' 
apparatus  fur  keeping  the  limbs  in  their  proper  location,  and 
that  it  was  her  custom  to  bandage  thus  as  a  preventive  against' 
neuralgia. 

The  clergyman  had  scarcely  finished  surveying  the  contents 
of  the  apartment,  when  some  awkward  movements  of  Susan, 
arrested  his  notice.  She  was  going  in  groat  haste  to  reach  some- 
thing from  behind  Mr.  Barrjw,  whon  one  of  her  tassels  caught 
in  his  chair.  The  little  man  tried  to  extricate  it  by  means 
of  his  umbrella,  which  was  laid  by  his  side  ;  but  unfortunately 
for  Susan,  the  huge  end  of  it  buried  itself  in  her  flounce,  and 
determined  to  free  herself,  in  her  fury,  she  went  round  and  round, 
until  the  chair  and  its  coiuents  were  a  complete  whirligig.  Per- 
ceiving the  discomfiture  of  the  poor  little  man,  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  turned  away  — 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing,  you  stupid,  deaf,  old  creature  !  I  shall 
twist  and  turn  you  about  much   worse  than  that,  before.  long" 


132  a  bpins'J  uv. 

And  having  recovered  a  paper,  the  searching  for  which  had  so 
disconcerted  the  little  individual,  she  approached  Mr  Everett, 
and  as  she  held  it  close  to  his  eyes,  said,  "  We  wish  you  to  read 

it,  sir  —  I  mean  aloud,  if  you  please  — if  you  will  just  be  so 
very  g 1.  sir." 

"Oh,  .-tup  a  moment!"  came  in  a  whining  little  voice  from 
the  win  low  ;  ami  as  all  directed  their  attention  thither,  they 
found  Mr.  Barrow  diligently  examining  every  poclcet  in  his  pos- 
session, and  to  the  amusement  of  any  who  cared  to  notice  it, 
making  the  most  hideous  grimaces  at  every  change  of  position. 
However,  he  was  at  last  successful,  for  he  presently  held  with- 
in those  stiff,  long  fingers,  a  ring  that  glittered  brightly  in  the 
twilight. 

Upon  a  second  entreaty  to  read  the  piper  aloud,  Mr.  Everett 
seemed  to  regain  his  senses,  and  complied. 

It  was  a  formal  and  lengthy  avowal  of  a  love  for  Robert  Bar- 
row, Esq.  ;  written  in  the  first  person,  and  indulging  in  the  wild- 
est rhapsodies  of  a  passionate  and  uncontrolled  affection,  most 
extravagantly  expressed  ;  and  concluding  with  declarations  of 
desperate  determination  upon  her  own  life,  if  thwarted  in  a 
union  with  the  person  to  whom  she  expressed  herself  so  greatly" 
attached. 

The  singular  epistle  was  ended  ;  Anna's  lips  moved,  as  she 
endeavored  to  rise  and  attract  the  reader's  attention;  bat  all 
utterance  failed  her,  and.  although  in  her  imagination  she  was 
clinging  to  him,  imploring  him  to  believe  it  all  false,  still  there 
6he  sat,  the  same  monument  of  inevitable  despair. 

Susan  now  approached  her,  and  moved  both  chair  and  Anna  as 
near  as  possible  to  the  strange  little  man.  His  hands,  which 
shook  violently  from  a  stroke  of  the  palsy,  seized  the  cold  fingers 
of  that  insensible  girl,  as  Susan  held  them  towards  him  ;  and 
after  much  trouble  and  delay,  occasioned  by  his  extreme  nerv- 
ousness and  indifferent  sight,  the  ring  glittered  upon  the  hand 
of  its  new  possessor. 

"  Now  Anna,  love,"  said  Susan,  as  she  kissed  her,  and  lifted 
her  from  the  chair,  "  just  come  to  the  table." 

Miss  Pyke  rendered  her  assistance,  and  Anna  was  carried 
rather  than  led  to  the  table,  on  which  lay1"  what  seemed  to  her, 
her  death  warrant.  Susan  dipped  a  pen  in  the  ink,  while  Miss 
Pyke  supported  the  sinking  form,  an  1  then  holding  it  within 
the  fingers  of  Anna,  said,  'just  write  your  name  here,  darling." 

"It's  all  you'll  have  to  do,  dear ;  "  said  the  kind  friend,  in 
whose  arms  she  rested,  "  I  know  these  ceremonies  are  exceed- 
ingly tiresome,  but  like  many  other  trials  of  this  life,  we  must 
bear  them  with  patience." 


a  spinster's  story.  133 

It  was  done.  And  the  deed,  whose  plotting  had  cost  Susan 
bo  many  wakeful  hours,  and  her  accomplice  so  much  pondering 

and  anxiety,  was  at  last  accomplished. 

A  change  seemed  coming  over  Anna,  and  fearing  she  should 
evince  some  unfavorable  symptoms  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Everett,  Susan  was  now  as  anxious  to  have  that  gentleman 
make  his  exit,  as  she  had  been  solicitous  of  his  company. 

'•  Indeed,  sir,"  said  she  turning  to  him,  "  I  think  I  heard  the 
bell  ring,  in  fact,  I'm  most  sure  it's  some  one  for  you,  sir.  And 
we  are  all  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Everett,  yes  sir,  very 
much  ;"  which  was  seconded  by  her  ladyship,  Miss  Pyke,  and 
re-echoed  by  the  nodding  Mrs.  Gilbert,  behind  the  door.  To 
their  entire  satisfaction,  the  curate  arose,  and  taking  one  more 
survey  of  the  motley  group,  left  the  room. 

They  attempted  to  bear  Anna  to  the  door,  but  with  an  un- 
warranted strength,  she  warded  them  from  her,  and  standing 
there  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  uplifting  her  hands  with 
a  cry  to  heaven    she  exclaimed  — 

"  Oh,  Father,  have  mercy  !  forgive,  help  me  !  Alfred,  come 
before  I  die  !  "      And  the  insensible  girl  fell  to  the  floor. 

"  It's  a  mere  childish  fit,"  said  Susan,  as  they  bore  her  to  her 
little  room,  where,  having  used  a  few  restoratives  to  revive  her, 
they  thought  she  would  soon  recover,  and  left  her  to  herself. 
Susan  locked  her  in,  and  secured  the  key,  saying,  "  I'm  too 
weary  to  stand  any  of  Alfred's  temper  to-night,  so  he'll  not  see 
tier  until  I  choose." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Thou  fairest  Bower, 
Why  didsl  thou  fling  thyself  across  my  path? 
My  tlger-sprii  iee  in  Itt  way, 

But  caunot  pause  ;■>  pitj 

••  Neither  b  mded  kne  is,  pure  hands  hold  up, 

roans,  nor  silver  shedding  tears, 
Could  penel  ler  uncompassionate  sire." 

Night  had  cast  her  sombre  mantle  over  the  streets  of  the 
capital,  when  our  weary  travellers  found  themselves  at  last  at 
the  entrance  of  Berlin.  As  it  was  late,  they  concluded  to  spend 
the  night  at  the  hotel,  that  rest  might  recruit  them  for  their  re- 
ception by  their  relatives  on  the  morrow.  The  morning  proved 
clear  and  salubrious,  conducive  to  the  joyous  spirit  of  anticipa- 
tion that  animated  them  as  they  drove  to  the  town  residence  of 
Sir  Charles  Villiers-  Anxious  as  they  were  to  see  the  city,  the 
close  vehicle  in  which  they  were  driven  prevented  any  more 
than  a  mere  glimpse  now  and  then  as  they  passed  ;  and  unable 
to  form  any  idea  of  the  streets  and  buildings,  they  were  set 
down  at  the  dwelling  of  the  grandfather.  It  was  of  rather 
modern  architecture,  and  wore  a  substantial  and  commodious 
appearance;  but  at  present  they  were  not  inclined  to  be  as 
much  interested  in  the  building,  as  in  those  who  occupied  it. 
Charles  ascended  the  steps  and  inquired  for  Sir  Charles  ;  but  to 
the  disappointment  of  all,  heard  their  grandfather's  family  had 
repaired  a  few  weeks  previous  to  their  country  residence  of  La 
Belle,  and  upon  inquiring  of  the  old  servant  whether  his  mas- 
ter expected  any  visitors,  the  reply  was  in  the  negative,  making 
it  evident  that  their  letter,  informing  him  of  their  intentions,  had 
never  reached  its  destination  ;  an  1  it  would  be  useless  to  pen  a 
second,  as  they  would  reach  La  Belle  as  soon  as  the  mail.  Re- 
turning to  the  station,  they  took,  their  seats  in  a  train  just  start- 
ing  tor  Halle,  and  we  will  leave  them  pursuing  their  tedious 
journey  towards  Halle,  while  we  take  a  view  of  the  inmates  at 
La  Belle. 

Sir  Charles  Villiers  was  now  about  seventy-five,  and  had 
been  a  wi  lower  twenty  years.  To  use  his  own  expression,  ho 
had  been  troubled  with  but  four  children,  the  eldest  of  whom 
was  Eliza,  a  woman  of  fifty,  who  now  superintended  the  house- 
hold  and  who  partook  somewhat  of  the  temperament  of  her 
father,  which  was  in  no  wise  the  most  amiable  or  agreeable ; 
and  she  generally  contrived  to   be  opposed  in  whatever  she  was 


a  Spixster's  story.  135 

desired  to  acquiesce.  On  hearing  of  his  son's  decease,  lie  ap- 
peared  softened  for  a  time,  and  ready  to  offer  them  every 
ance  and  even  kindness;  but  Eliza  could  see  no  occasion  for 
receiving  again  into  favor  anj  disinherited  branch  of  the  family  ; 
and  she  feared  lest  the  widow  and  children,  should  the, 
to  Prussia,  might  hover  around  Sir  Charles,  and  in  time  so  con- 
trol him  that  she  would  lose  all  sway  in  a  household  wher 
had  ruled  so  long.  Accordingly,  she  invited  the  son  of  a  poor, 
distant  relation.  ;  >  come  and  remain  in  the  family,  and  to  en- 
deavor to  gain  the  notice  and  favor  of  the  old  gentleman,  that 
he  might  be  made  his  heir,  for  the  estate  descended  only  in  the 
male  line,  and  the  younger  son  of  Sir  Charles  had  been  drown- 
ed a  few  years  previous.  Young  Hermann,  who  had  just  es- 
caped from  the  confines  of  college  walls,  was  proud,  indolent, 
and  in  no  degree  elevated  in  his  character.  Conscious  of  his 
position  he  spared  no  pains  to  remain  a  short  time  every  day, 
and  read  to  the  old  gentleman,  when  he  never  forgot  to  recount 
all  the  invitations  he  had  refused  by  so  doing  ;  and  by  degrees 
won  the  favor  he  so  greatly  desired,  and  in  the  exuberance  of 
his  anticipations,  he  formed  an  engagement  with  an  Austrian 
lady,  who  was  elated  with  the  idea  of  his  prospects  in  regard  to 
La  Belle. 

Sir  Charles  received  no  answer  to  his  letter  ;  and  much  re- 
joiced, Eliza  declared  it  was  just  what  she  had  expected,  as  it 
was  most  probable  the  wife  and  children  were  like  her  brother, 
very  proud  and  independent,  and  without  doubt  had  scorned 
his  invitation  long  ago.  Consequently,  Sir  Charles,  thinking 
he  should  hear  no  more  from  Philadelphia,  made  his  will,  in 
which  Hermann  was  sole  heir  to  his  title  and  estate.  The  old 
gentleman  had  also  sent  an  invitation  to  the  intended  wife  of  his 
adopted  son  ;  many  visitors  were  at  La  Belle,  and  the  beautiful 
valley  was  illumined  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  gay  chateau,  after 
its  long  desertion  during  the  winter. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening ;  Eliza  was  exerting  herself  to  the 
utmost  in  aiding  to  entertain  the  guests  in  the  drawing-room  ; 
not  that  she  possessed  much  conviviality  within  herself,  but  hers 
was  the  faculty  of  drawing  it  from  others,  so  that  when  she  chose, 
her  society  could  be  desirable.  In  the  library  sat  a  corpulent 
and  hearty-looking  old  gentleman,  whose  very  air  spoke  of  ease 
and  plenty,  while  the  grey  locks  that  encircled  the  full,  round 
cheeks,  seemed  to  add  but  little  care  to  the  clear,  expansive 
brow,  that  appeared  to  enclose  intellectual  powers  of  no  uncom- 
mon order.  let  there  was  in  his  countenance  thai  which  for- 
bade  any   proximity  to  intimacy  ;  in  fact,  no  one  ever  dared  to 


136  \   H'i\-  i  bb's  -  CORY. 

ask  :i  reason  for  anything  he  did  ;  as  usudl,  he  was  surrounded 
by  the  newspapers  and  journals  of  the  day  ;  but  these  were- just 
now  disregarded,  as  he  sal  back  in  his  chair,  knitting  his  brow 
as  thou  ■  „r  som  i  diffi  •  ilt  prob 

T  i  ■  I  i  irop  sn  ■  I,  an  I  a  lady  of  ra  i  Liu  n  stature  entered.  Tier 
complexion  was  very  dark,  and  the  expression  of  her  counte- 
nance certainly  by  n  i  me  ins  prep  issessing  ;  her  carriage,  as  she 
approache  I  the  ol  I  gentleman,  was  one  of  firm  and  resolute  de- 
cision. She  was  evidently  about  to  speak,  when  Sir  Charles 
suddenly  brought  his  clenche  1  han  1  in  contact  with  the  table, 
a  signal  that  his  loquacity  was  soon  to  appear,  and  that  undivid- 
ed attention  must  be  given  thereto. 

"  They're  coming,"  at  length  escaped  him. 

"  Who?" 

"Those  Philadelphia  folks." 

"  What  ?     You  never  can  mean  Charles'  family  !  " 

"  The  same." 

But  the  contemptuously  curled  lip  and  defiant  air  of  the  lis- 
tener told  she  believe  I  the  speaker  only  dreaming  ;  although, 
had  she  ascen  led  to  the  tower,  and  looked  out  from  one  of  the 
turrets  upon  the  moonlit  scene,  she  might  have  descried  a  coach 
descending  heavily  the  side  of  the  mountain  that  sloped  towards 
the  seclude  I  valley  of  La  Belle;  and  could  she  have  discerned 
the  countenances  of  those  within,  she  could  have  found  how 
great  a  change  a  short  time  had  wrought  in  the  handsome  face 
of  the  widow,  while  extreme  weariness  and  fatigue  marked  the 
expressions  of  the  rest. 

"  I  tell  you  it's  true  ;"  continued  Sir  Charles,  "  a  postillion, 
who  drove  on  for  a  relay  of  horses,  brought  the  word." 

'•  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do,  are  you  going  to  receive 
them  ?  " 

"  [  want  to  see  what  they  all  look  like."     Nodding  assent. 

'•  Well,  so  you  can  ;  and  the  servants  will  not  know  who  they 
are,  for  I  suppose  you  will  entertain  them  but  a  short  time  ?  " 

"  Until  to  morrow ;  when  1  can  give  them  my  mind." 

The  travellers  reached  the  chateau,  and  alighted.     A  recep- 
ti  >n  that  chilled  Mrs.  Villiers  to  the  heart  was  theirs,  as  Eliza 
ra  it  th  en  and  formally  extending  her  hand,  said,  without  a  word 
ther  congratulation 

"  I  don't  think   Sir  Charles  is   disposed   to  see  any  one  this 
ning  ;  however,  now  that  you  are  here,  you  will  be  obliged  to 
remain  for  the  night ;  most  probably  you  would  rather  retire  at 
■  than  join  us  in  the  drawing-room;  so  I  will  bid  you  good- 
night, and  have  some  refreshment  sent  up  to  you." 


a  spinster's  story.  137 

She  instantly  turned  to  a  footman,  and  ordered  him  to  show 
the  strangers  into  certain  rooms  at  the  farther  end  of  the  chateau, 
and  walked  away  in  another  direction. 

Americans  are  in  general  early  risers  ;  and  this  custom,  join- 
ed to  the  novelty  of  their  situation,  awoke  the  children  at  day- 
break, while  a  mio  I  ill  at  ease  prevented  the  widow  finding 
her  pillow  one  of  repose.  The  gentle  rays  of  the  rising  sun 
were  just  playing  upon  the  breast  of  the  silvery  lake,  when  she 
arose,  and  opening  the  casement,  drank  in  the  beauty  of  the 
beloved  scene,  which  filled  her  with  visions  of  the  past,  and  for 
awhile  served  as  a  respite  from  the  sorrows  of  the  present. 
There  was  the  same  gravel  walk,  sloping  down  through  many  a 
maze  and  dingle  to  the  pure  stream  below  ;  while  beyond,  tow- 
ered in  majestic  beauty,  the  lofty  Hartz.  To  the  left  extended 
the  broad  expanse  of  the  park,  over  whoso  rich  verdure  gam- 
boled the  deer  and  the  antelope,  as  they  bounded  far  out  of 
sight  to  slake  their  thirst  at  the  fall  of  the  cataract,  whose  well 
remembered  sound  brought  to  the  recollection  of  the  widow 
many  a  scene  of  childish  glee,  when,  far  through  the  woodland 
would  resound  the  merriment  of  their  innocent  sport.  And 
then  as  the  years  stole  over  her,  and  other  aims  called  her  atten- 
tion, the  same  velvet  lawn,  ami  "  grove  of  citrons,"  bad  afford- 
ed a  retreat  to  the  lovers,  when  they  left  the  circle  of  friends,  to 
breathe,  in  the  moonlight,  vows  that  never,  until  death,  had  been 
broken. 

But  suddenly  her  gaze  fell  in  another  direction,  where  from 
among  the  cluster  of  trees,  arose  a  memorial  of  faithful  service 
in  the  cause  of  the  Redeemer.  It  was  a  small  spire,  perhaps 
less  artistically  wrought  than  any  angle  of  the  chateau,  yet  it 
spoke  to  her  heart  of  the  lowly  spirit  of  that  beloved  parent, 
who  had  labored  unceasingly  among  that  little  flock  of  the  val- 
ley, until  he  was  called  to  the  better  land.  While  further  to 
the  left,  in  a  deeper  seclusion  of  the  valley,  arose  the  slabs  of 
granite,  to  note  the  resting-place  of  a  family  which  she  alone 
remained  to  represent. 

The  birds  were  warbling  their  matin  song,  and  all  nature 
seemed  to  unite  in  a  welcome  to  the  return  of  the  wanderer. 
"  Beautiful  La  Belle  !  "  sighed  the  widow  ;  "  of  all  places  upon 
earth  thou  art  the  most  lovely  :  and  I  would  that  my  children 
could  love  thee  as  I  do.  Ah,  no  !  "  checking  the  wish,  "  cold 
was  the  reception  ;  thou  canst  be  nothing  to  them  ;  they  must 
leave  thee  to  another,  and  wander  far  away  from  thy  peaceful 
shade,  to  brook  the  rude  world  without.  Oh,  La  Belle  !  homo 
of  my  childhood  !  spot  ever  dear  to  my  recollection,  we  must 
leave  thee  for  ever ;  and  I,  with  my  children,  whither  shall  I  go  !  " 


a  spinster's  story. 

Then  followed  the  moment  of  anguish  ;  and  the  tried  soul, 

r whelmed  by  the  dark  future,  tunic  i  from   the  scene  that 

io  beautiful  for  the   hour  of  sorrow,  and  soughtTelief 

i  the  ready  tear.     But  the  Comforter,  whom  the   Father  hath 

I   to  all  who  ask  in   his  Sou's  name,  is  never  sought  in 

vain;  and  armed  with  fresh   strength  for  all  to  come,  she  left 

the  retreat  of  her  chamber,  and  bathing  the  fevered  brow  in  the 

eool  air  of  the  morning,  endeavored   to  leave  the   past  and  the 

future,  and  roused  herself  for  the  occupation  of  the  present. 

•'  Let  me  see,  where  did  they  put  the  children  !  "  said  she 
ilou  1,  as  she  left  the  bale  »ny,  and  with  stealthy  steps,  lest  she 
should  awake  the  sleepers,  entered  one  of  the  long  galleries, 
and  paused  to  consider  what  objects  of  interest  she  desired  most 
particularly  to  point  out  to  them,  as  it  might  be  the  last  oppor- 
tunity afforded  her  for  acquainting  them  with  the  spot  of  which 
their  father  had  so  often  spoken  with  delight. 

At  the  eni.  of  the  gallery  was  a  glass  door,  that  opened  upon 
a  sort  of  corridor,  o'pp  isite  to  which  projected  one  of  the  wings 
of  the  chateau.  Hearing  a  familiar  voice  humming  some  favor- 
ite little  air.  she  look:'  1  up,  and  there  at  an  open  window,  stood 
Lydia,  her  bright  countenance  glowing  with  health  and  anima- 
tion, while  the  rich  tresses  served  as  a  toy  for  the  passing 
breeze. 

"  Lovely  girl ;  "  murmured  the  fond  mother,  "  and  you  look 
none  the  less  beautiful  for  the  fatigues  of  that  trying  voyage. 
To  what  have  you  been  born,  my  sweet  Lydia,  and  what  would 
that  father  have  felt,  could  he  have  known  that  the  homeless 
and  friendless,  would  ever  be  the  lot  of  the  child  he  loved  al- 
most to  idolatry.  But,  beloved  one,  yours  is  a  happy  tempera- 
ment, and  I'll  not  sadden  you  with  my  anxieties  and  fears  !  " 

Leaving  the  corridor,  she  wound  her  way  to  where  Lydia 
stood,  gazing  too  intently  upon  the  scene  to  be  aware  of  her  ap- 
proaeh.  The  embrace  startled  her,  but  she  instantly  returned 
the  fond  caress  as  she  exclaimed, — 

"  Charles  and  Lottie  have  gone  to  look  at  a  swallow's  nest, 
but  I  wished  to  remain  a  little  longer  to  enjoy  this  view.  Now 
let  us  go  and  find  them." 

Upon  descending  to  the  garden,  they  heard  from  a  distance 
the  musical  laugh  of  the  lively  Carlotta  ;  winding  their  way  in 
.  ■  direction  of  the  sound,  they  came  to  a  sequestered  spot, 
where  the  vines  that  climbed  from  bough  to  bough  formed  a  bower 
i °  unrivalled  beauty,  on  account  of  the  cascade  that  rippled  in 
centre,  over  m:J  ty  a  bank  of  variegated  vegetation.  On  a 
mossy  mound,  reclined  the  fairy  form  of  Lottie  ;   her  face  turned 


a  spixster's  story.  139 

towards  the  cascade,  where  Charles  seemed  busily  occupied  in 
catching  the  drops  as  they  fell  from  the  waterfall.  Approach- 
ing her,  he  sprinkled  them  upon  her  fair  forehead,  exclaiming, 
"  Carlo tta,  in  the  names  of  the  nymphs  of  this  bower,  T  anoint 
thee  goddess  of  mischief,  and  sprite  of  the  spirits  of  sport. 
Amen." 

"  Come,  children,  leave  your  nymphean  haunts  for  awhile," 
said  Mrs.  Villiers ;  "  I  wish  particularly  to  show  you  the  pic- 
ture gallery." 

Carlotta  started  at  the  sound  of  the  voice,  then  threw  herself 
back  again,  exclaiming,  "Oh,  T  could  stay  here  for  ever;  and 
when  T  come  to  live  at  La  Belle,  this  shall  be  my  favorite 
nook  !  " 

The  widow  made  no  remark,  but  heaving  a  sigh,  led  the  way 
to  a  side  of  the  chateau  where  the  moat  widened  ;  and  Charles 
prevailed  upon  them  to  forsake  the  bridge  for  the  novelty  of  be- 
ing rowed  in  a  boat  across  the  water  to  the  ponderous  entrance. 
After  some  scientific  maneuvre  that  Mrs.  Villiers  remembered, 
the  door  yielded  to  them,  and  they  passed  into  the  massive  oak 
hall,  where  the  rich,  heavy  mouldings,  carved  in  various  devices, 
and  the  curiously  inlaid  stone  floor,  would  have  riveted  their 
attention,  had  not  the  widow  reminded  them  that  they  must  not 
delay  in  reaching  the  gallery  ;  and  passing  through  many  a 
passage  and  lobby,  they  at  last  entered  it.  The  walls  were 
closely  hung  with  paintings  of  every  school  —  the  portraits  being 
mostly  life  size,  and  of  every  attitude  and  costume.  Among 
those  of  the  sovereigns  of  Prussia,  there  was  in  the  midst  of  the 
group,  one  of  the  beautiful  Queen  Louisa ;  so  exquisite  were 
the  features  and  expression  of  that  lovely  countenance,  that  as 
you  gazed  upon  the  superior  beauty,  and  remembered  the  sad 
history  of  the  unfortunate  princess,  the  deepest  sympathies  would 
blend  with  the  rapture  of  the  admiration.  Nearly  all  had  been 
inspected,  and  Lyuia  was  looking  intently  upon  the  "  Passions," 
admirably  executed  by  one  of  the  old  school,  when  Charles  drew 
her  aside  to  the  portrait  of  a  girl  bearing  a  basket  of  primroses  ; 
the  hat  was  thrown  back,  and  the  fair,  high  forehead  and  dim- 
pled cheek  bespoke  the  genuineness  of  the  soul  within. 

"  She  is  very  much  like  you,  Lottie,"  said  Charles,  "  and 
yet  there  is  a  resemblance  to  you,  Lydia,  only  you  see,  girls, 
she  is  quite  pretty;  "  casting  a  serio-comic  glance  at  his  sisters. 
"  Now,  my  dear  mother,  come  and  make  the  confession,  for  I 
know  it  is  you." 

"■  Yes  !  "  said  Mrs.  Villiers,  approaching  the  picture  ;  "  your 
father's  mother  was  very  fond  of  me,  and  once  when  I  was  cross- 


140  a  spinster's    story. 

ing  tli"  lawn  with  some  freshly  gathered  flowers  for  her,  she  had 
a  painter,  w  i  i  was  in  the  bouse,  sketch  the  attitude,  while  she 
kept  ni"  talking  until  it  was  over;  then,  when  1  came  iu,  the 
portrait  was  taken.  l»ut  come  here,  children  ;  who  do  you  sup- 
|i  ise  this  i- '.'  " 

The  subject  was  an  old  gentleman  in  the  act  of  writing;  the 
brow  was  knit,  and  wore  a  troubled  expression,  while  the  eom- 
I  lips  told  of  some  firm  and  resolute  decision. 

"  It  is  your  grandfather  making  his  will,"  said  Mrs.  Villiers, 

turning  away. 

•'  Ly  lia,"  said  Charles,  as  they  lingered  to  look  at  it,  "do 
you  supp  is  •  a  physiog  i  imist  could  discover  aught  that  is  benev- 
olent in  that  countenance?" 

'■  Why,  I  don't  know  ;  perplexity  so  strongly  marks  every 
feature,  that  it  is  the  reigning  characteristic  of  the  whole,  and 
perhaps  we  might  mistake  that  for  sum"  harsher  feeling." 

Charles  seemed  undecided,  and  watched  the  portrait  with  in- 
tense interest  ;  an  1  the  longer  he  gazed,  the  more  his  face  be- 
tokened thai  hope  was  yielding  to  despondency.  But  Carlo  tta, 
who  had  not  looked  lon^  ciimi^a  to  discover  any  unfavorable 
traits  in  it,  had  lost  none  of  her  vivacity  by  the  gaze  ;  and  soon 
finding  a  more  interesting  subject,  called  the  attention  of  the 
rest  towards  it.  They  found  it  to  lie  a  beautiful  picture  of  the 
children  of  Maria  Theresa;  and  many  painted  by  Steens,  Ilem- 
brandt,  Vecchio,  and  others  of  renown,  attracted  their  notice, 
together  with  some  of  the  most  elaborate  works  of  the  great 
sculptor,  Rauch,  that  graced  one  of  the  lobbies  leading  to  the 
galery. 

They  were  about  to  leave,  and  turned  to  take  a  last  look  a 
iding,  one  half  of  which  represented  Heaven,  the  other 
Hell  It  had  taken  years  to  execute,  as  the  painter  lay  upon 
his  baek,  and  could  do  but  little  at  a  time.  It  was  a  master- 
piece of  rare  workmanship, —  imposing  beyond  description,  in  the 
beauty  of  th  *  one  scene,  and  most  awe-striking  in  the  horror  of 
the  other.  Enrapture  they  were  gazing  up  at  this  remarkable 
chef-d'oeuvre,  when  Mrs.  ViUiers'  eye  fell  upon  an  object  in  a 
corner  of  the  gallery,  and  she  suddenly  exclaimed  as  her  tears 
started, — 

"  Oh,  I  hive  found  it  !  Yes,  there  it  is!  Away  from  it's 
companions  —  aloof  from  every  eye  !  "  Her  tears  flowed  faster 
as  she  point"!  to  a  portrait  over  the  door,  and  added,  "Stay 
and  look  at  it  ;  I  cannot  hear  it  any  longer  now  —  it  is  your 
father  !  "  and  left  them,  while  the  three  moved  towards  the  new- 
ly discovered  treasure.     It  had  most  probably  been  taken  about 


a  spinster's  story.  141 

the  time  of  his  coming  of  age  ;  it  was  indeed  a  noble  counte- 
nance—  the  brow  lofty  and  highly  intellectual  ;  the  features  reg- 
ular and   handsome;  the  dark  eyes  full  and  expressive;  the 

hair  rich  and  luxuriant  ;  while  the  whole  expression  was  one  of 
truth  and  candor.  Long  and  ardently  they  gazed,  and  mingled 
their  tears  as  they  knelt  beneath  it.  Too  much  absorbed  in  the 
sorrow  of  the  moment  to  observe  a  footstep  behind  them,  it  was 
not  until  a  gentle  hand  upon  Lydia's  shoulder  made  them  start, 
that  they  beheld  a  female  figure  attired  in  mourning  standing 
beside  them. 

"  Come,  dears."  said  the  stranger,  "  your  mother  is  waiting." 
She  led  the  way  through  passage  and  hall,  until  they  reached 
a  cozy  little  apartment,  where  they  found  their  mother  seate  I  be- 
side a  small  table,  on  which  an  inviting  repast  was  spread  around 
a  hissing  urn  ;  and  many  a  vase  of  fresh-cut  flowers,  as  they  filled 
the  air  with  their  sweet  fragrance,  added  to  the  cheerful  ap- 
pearance of  the  little  room. 

"  This  good  person  is  the  housekeeper,"  observed  Mrs.  Vil- 
liers  as  they  entered  ;  "  who  saw  us  from  her  window,  and 
thought  a  cup  of  tea  would  refresh  us  before  exploring  any  fur- 
ther, as  the  family  do  not  breakfast  until  ten." 

The  dejeuner  over,  they  were  led  by  the  kind  stranger  to  a 
remote  part  of  the  wing,  occupied  by  the  guide  of  the  chateau, 
whose  business  it  was  to  keep  the  keys,  and  show  it  to  visitors. 
He  was  termed  the  monk,  probably  from  his  secluded  mode  of 
living,  and  his  costume,  which  was  peculiar  to  that  order,  though 
it  was  said  he  once  belonged  to  that  class. 

"Does  she  know  who  we  are?"  inquired  Lydia,  as  the 
housekeeper  left  them. 

"  I've  no  doubt  they  both  have  some  suspicion,"  was  the  re- 
ply, glancing  at  the  half  concealed  face  of  the  old  monk. 

They  now  followed  their  guide  to  a  suit  of  apartments  which 
bad  not  been  used  for  more  than  a  century ;  there  was  the 
elaborately  wrought  tapestry,  although  the  fingers  that  had  so 
busily  plied  the  needle  over  the  canvas,  had  long  mouldered 
into  dust.  The  dark,  heavy  furniture  seemed  to  cast  a  gloom 
over  the  apartments  in  which  they  reigned  the  sole  monarchs, 
while  the  portraits  that  embellished  the  walls,  remained  to  tell 
of  those  who  had  exchanged  their  abode  in  the  chamber,  for 
the  darker  confines  of  the  tomb  ;  and  many  was  the  tale  of  in- 
terest to  which  a  glance  at  these  likenesses  led,  when  they  list- 
ened spell-bound  to'  the  romantic  story,  and  Carlotta  shed  tears 
as  the  old  monk  related  the  tale  of  woe. 

"  Here,"  continued  he,  "  Is  a  room  we  never  show,  except 


142-  a  bpinsteb's  stort. 

by  the  special  request  of  some  particular  friend  of  Sir  Charles." 
He  selected  a  key  and  endeavored  to  turn  the  lock  which  rust 
had  rendered  almost  immovable ;  but  after  much  effort,  the  harsh 
grating  sound  told  he  was  successful,  the  door  opene  i  and  they 
entered. 

"  Touch  nothing  ;  "  said  the  deep  low  tone  of  the  monk,  as 
he  pointed  to  the  dust  that  rested  as  a  thick  crust  upon  every- 
thing; "during  the  last  eleven  years  no  one  has  entered  this 
chamber,  where  all  is  as  it  was  a  century  ago,  when  a  drea  Iful 
event  happened  within  these  walls.  It  was  the  boudoir  of  a 
young  lady  whose  portrait  is  over  the  mantel-pieee." 

It  was  a  square  apartment,  of  large  size,  upon  whose  walls 
various  scenes  from  ancient  mythology  had  been  wrought  in 
tapestry,  sail  to  have  been  the  work  of  the  occupant  of  the 
chamber,  while  the  furniture  of  this  apartment  was  less  mas- 
sive and  heavy  than  that  of  the  preceding.  Upon  a  table  by  a 
window,  what  had  once  been  a  letter  was  lying  upon  an  open 
desk,  where  the  pen  still  rested  in  the  inkstand,  beside  which 
were  the  ashes  of  a  nosegay. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  said  Mis.  Villiers,  "  I  remember  the  story;  it 
was  said  she  was  related  to  Charles,  the  Elector  of  Bavaria,  and 
sought  a  refuge  here  during  the  war  of  the  Austrian  Succession. 
Some  believed  her  the  consort  of  Charles  of  Bavaria  ;  for  upon 
hearing  the  claim  of  Maria  Theresa  had  been  acknowledged, 
and  Charles  defeated,  she  destroyed  herself  by  inhaling  the 
effluvium  of  charcoal." 

"  1  have  heard  my  father  speak  of  it,"  said  Charles,  "  but  I 
thought  a  lover  had  something  to  do  with  it, —  that  he  gave  her 
poison." 

"  No  !  "  replied  the  monk,  "  neither  of  you  are  right.  They 
were  rowing  upon  the  Saale,  when  the  boat  upset  and  the  two 
were  drowned  ;  the  bodies  were  never  found." 

"It  may  have  been  so;"  rejoined  Mrs.  Villiers,  "  I  know 
she  was  called  the  unhappy  Odina.  But  there  is  her  portrait." 
The  painting  was  very  much  defaced,  still  the  outline  was  visible, 
and  though  not  strikingly  handsome,  wore  a  pensive  and  interest- 
ing expression. 

"Listen  !  there  is  the  bell  of  the  chapel  for  morning  prayers, 
how  much  I  should  like  to  enter  it  once  again,"  said  the  widow." 

"  There  will  not  be  time  this  morning,  madam  ;  "  said  the  monk, 
"  and  I  wish  to  show  the  young  people  the  haunted  chamber; 
such  things  have   generally  a  peculiar  interest  with  youth." 

It  was  a  bed  room  —  not  more  gloomy  in  appearance  than  the 
rest :   the    bedstead  was  of  curiously  carved   oak,  around  which 


a  spinster's  stohy.  143 

tlie  long  curtains  were  closely  drawn,  nearly  c  >nceaTing  the 
whole  of  the  silken  coverlid.  Hut  the  sun  was  shining  in 
through  the  windows,  and  all  in  the  room  wore  a  cheerful  as- 
pect; Charles  remarked  there  was  nothing  of  awe  in  its  appear- 
ance. 

"  All  !  replied  the  monk,  u  you  don't  know  the  mysterious 
horror  attached  to  this  camber  that  prevents  any  one  sleeping 
in  that  bed  after  midnight,  no  matter  if  they  are  strangers, 
and  never  heard  of  it,  they  are  never  allowed  to  rest  after  the. 
clock  in  the  tower  strikes  twelve.  For  then,  evil  spirits  take 
forms  here,  and  haunt  whoever  the  sleeper  may  be.  Indeed,  so 
many  have  been  seriously  alarmed,  that  now  no  one  is  allowed 
to  remain  here ;  you  see  I  keep  the  key." 

"  And  why  do  you  suppose  these  spirits  trouble  the  spot?" 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  ;  "  was  the  monk's  reply.  ''  One 
of  the  inheritors  of  this  estate  made  his  will,  ami  worded  a  part 
of  it  in  this  wise, —  that  as  long  as  his  daughter  remained  above 
ground,  her  husband  should  be  entitled  to  a  large  annuity  ;  con- 
sequently her  husband  never  suffered  her  to  be  buried."  Here 
the  monk  unlocked  the  door  of  a  closet,  and  opening  it,  said, 
"  this  marble,  you  see,  is  her  coffin.  From  here  proceeds  one 
spirit ;  the  other  from  this  event :  A  duel  was  to  be  fought  in 
tb is  chamber,  when  the  younger  dropped  his  rifle  and  refused 
fighting;  the  elder,  greatly  incensed  sprang  upon  him,  and  held 
him  by  the  throat  until  life  was  extinct  ;  he  himself  was  after- 
wards killed  during  the  seven  years'  war.  His  spirit  now  haunts 
the  spot,  for  they  were  brothers,  and  the  provocation  was  slight." 

The  breakfast  bell  rang,  and  they  wore  shown  into  a  largo 
room,  where  sat  Sir  Charles  and  Miss  Eliza  ;  the  latter  did  say 
"  Good-morning  ;  "  bat  the  former  took  no  more  notice  of  them 
than  if  a  domestic  had  entered,  but  looking  up  said, — 

"  I  took  the  trouble  to  get  up  to  breakfast  this  morning,  you 
see,  for  I  wanted  to  know  what  you  and  these  boys  of  yours 
wore  looking  like." 

No  more  was  said,  and  the  meal  was  half  over  when  the  door 
opened  and  the  fiance's,  Hermann  and  Fritzine,  entered,  followed 
by  several  guests.  Mrs.  Villiers  and  her  children  were  intro- 
duced as  distant  relations  who  were  making  a  tour,  and  being 
near  La  Belle  had  come  to  see  Sir  Charles;  although  it  was 
very  evident  Hermann  had  been  better  informed,  as  he  convers- 
ed with  Fritzine  to  that  effect,  thinking,  probably,  no  one  near 
understood  German  but  himself  and  his  companion.  Fritzine 
was  a  woman  of  large  size,  with  very  wide  features,  and  high 
cheek  bones,  but  might  at  a  distance  have  been  called  a  showy 


144  .\  -tins  i  eb's  btoet. 

girl,  although  her  manners  were  rude  and  exceedingly  unpre- 
posessing,  The  breakfast  was  scarcely  over,  when  Sir  Charles, 
with  m  frown  peculiar  to  him,  said  in  a  tone  sufficiently  loud  for 
all  to  hear, — 

"  Mrs  Villiers,  when  all  these  people  are  gone,  I  shall  want 
to  ppeak  to  you." 

Tin'  hint  was  duly  received  by  all  who  knew  the  queer  old  gen- 
tleman,  and  they  soon  arose  to  leave.  Hermann  invited  Charles 
to  sec  flu'  stud,  and  Miss  Eliza  directed  Lydia  and  Carlotta  to 
the  flower  garden,  leaving  the  widow  alone  with  her  father-in- 
law. 

Carlotta  had  wandered  down  the  slope  to  the  river,  and  Fritz- 
iii"  having  led  away  her  guests  with  her.  Lydia  was  left  to  her- 
self. Pondering  over  the  strange  behavior  of  her  grandfather, 
who  had  not  so  much  as  extended  his  hand  to  them,  she  at  last 
Wound  her  way  to  the  borders  of  the  lake.  A  little  skiff  rested 
upon  the  sands,  in  which  was  a  jacket  apparently  just  thrown 
off.  Timid  about  encountering  any  one  in  that  lonely  seclusion, 
Lydia  turned  to  retrace  her  steps,  when  the  figure  of  a  man,  in 
the  dress  of  a  boatman,  emerged  from  the  thick  brushwood, 
and  doffing  his  hat,  she  recognized  Hermann. 

"  Miss  Lydia,  pardon  me  for  startling  you  ;  remain  a  little 
longer  that  you  may  become  better  acquainted  with  Hermann 
Rosdt  Deufstandten.  Indeed,  I  must  say  you  are  quite  a  fine 
looking  girl  to  have  sprung  from  the  wilds  of  America.  Let 
me  >ee,  you  are  half  Prussian  and  half  American  ;  now  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  am.  My  father  was  a  Pole,  my  mother  a  Prussian, 
and  1  spent  my  boyhood  with  a  relative  in  Britian,  so  you  see 
I'm  a  little  of  everything,  and,  nothing.  But  you  don't  want 
to  stay  and  talk  with  me,  and  I  remember  hearing  you  were  a 
proud  sort  of  girl ;  and  I  suppose,  too,  you  think  your  brother 
is  to  be  lord  of  all  he  surveys,  before  many  years,  but  I  can  tell 
him  he  is  mistaken;  my  footing  here  is  very  sure.  But  really 
I  like  you  very  much  ;  now  tell  me  my  pretty  Lydia,  what  are 
your  first  impressions  of  me,  what  sort  of  a  fellow  do  you  take 
me  to  be?   In  fact  I  shall  not  let  you  go  until  you  do." 

"Then  I  can  wait,"  replied  Lydia  with  cool  dignity,  as  she 
turned  to  take  a  fuller  view  of  the  lake. 

"  I  know  I  annoy  you,  and  you  really  are  too  nice  for  that, 

so,  as  I  want  you  to  have  a  good  opinion  of  me,  I'll  say  good-by." 

They  had  all  gone,  the  door   was   closed,  and  the  widow  sat 

brooking  the  stern,  cold  glances  of  the  old  gentleman  before  her. 

"  Well,  Lydia,"  he  at  last  began,  "  what  do  you  want  '.' 

With  difficulty  the  widow  sought  to  cheek  the  rising  emotion, 

and  replied, — 


a  spinster's  story.  145 

"  I  came  and  brought  my  children  — by  invitation." 

"  True,  but  I  never  told  you  I  was  going  to  beg  through  tho 
streets  of  Berlin,  in  order  to  place  all  you  in  affluence,  did  I  ? 
Besides,  as  no  one  forced  you  to  come,  you  might  have  stayed 
away  altogether  if  you  had  liked  ;  and  if  you  are  not  pleased 
with  the  undertaking,  who  is  there  to  thank  but  yourself.  There, 
that's  the  way  with  women,  always  shedding  tears;  when  you 
might  spare  yourself  the  trouble,  for  the  sum  of  the  matter  is 
this  :  That  young  hopeful  you  saw  just  now,  Hermann,  I  mean, 
well,  he's  my  adopted  sou  ;  my  will  is  made,  and  he  is  solo 
heir.  And  even  if  I  had  mentioned  your  Charles  in  my  will, 
how  would  it  benefit  you  at  the  present  time  ?  You  don't  sup- 
pose I'm  going  to  die  instanter  just  to  suit  you,  do  you?  This 
Hermann  is  to  be  married  to  Fritzine,  the  German  lady  you  saw, 
although  if  he  had  had  half  the  experience  with  women  that  I 
have,  he'd  know  the  whole  pack  were  more  trouble  than  they 
are  worth.  However,  I  was  going  to  say,  it's  a  pity  that  girl 
of  yours  was  not  here  sooner,  because  she  would  have  done  as 
well  for  him  as  this  Fritzine,  and  I  should  have  had  no  objec- 
tion to  such  an  arrangement.  But  I'll  speak  to  Hermann,  and 
see  if  he  could  like  your  Lydia.  As  long  as  he  is  married  to 
some  one,  it  needn't  matter  who  it  is ;  women  are  all  alike. 
Yes,  I'll  speak  to  him." 

"  Oh,  please  do  not,  sir.  I  would  rather  starve  than  sell  my 
children  !  " 

"  All  very  good  ;  but  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Grant  me  one  request,  and  I  will  trouble  you  no  more. 
Do  for  the  sake  of  the  widow  and  the  fatherless,  hear  this  my 
last  appeal  !  " 

"  I  told  you  I  should  not  alter  my  will,  did  I  not?  " 

"  All  I  ask  is  a  loan  ;  I  might  then  establish  some  small 
seminary,  and  in  time  by  the  Almighty's  blessing  we  might  be 
able  to  earn  our  livelihood." 

"  A  loan  !  that  means  you  intend  to  pay  me  back  at  some 
time,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Be  assured,  as  soon  as  it  were  in  my  power  —  " 

"  "With  the  interest,  I  mean." 

"  Make  any  arrangements  you  please,  sir." 

"  Very  well ;  now  stay  till  the  end  of  the  week.  I'm  too 
tired  to  talk  any  more  to-day,  so  leave  the  room." 

It  was  evening  ;  many  were  gathered  in  the  spacious  old- 
fashioned  drawing-room,  where  the  lady  Fritzine  invariably  pre- 
sided.    In  a  large  arm-chair  by  the  fire-place,  sat  ensconced  Sir 
Charles,  who  remained  most  of  the  time  a  silent  observer  of  all 
7 


146  A    SPIN'STKUS     STORY. 

that  was  passing  round  him,  although  when  he  chose,  ho  could 
be  humorous  and  w  ty;  but  perhaps  for  the  further  comfort 
of  his  friends,  bis  choice  was  seldom  a  loquacious  one.  At  one 
end  of  the  room,  the  widow  was  doubiless  entertaining  a  circle 
of  ladies  with  an  account  of  their  voyage,  yet  the  pale,  anxious 
face  betokened  the  state  of  mind  under  which  she  was  suffering. 
In  a  bay  window,  half  concealed  by  the  rich  folds  of  the  damask 
curtains,  sat  Lydia  ;  and  as  the  breeze  wafted  aside  the  drapery, 
and  the  light  fell  upon  the  lovely  face,  it  was  peculiarly  thought- 
ful, though  not  sad,  except  when  she  remembered  the  disap- 
pointment and  sorrow  of  her  beloved  mother.  Fritzine,  with  a 
party,  had  gone  on  a  rambl  \  an  I  had  not"  yet  returned  ;  Charles 
had  been  carried  off  somewhere  by  Hermann,  and  Lottie  hav- 
ing overcome  her  dread  of  sleeping  alone  in  those  gloomy  cbam- 
bers,  had  retired  ;  and  Lydia  was  congratulating  herself  upon 
being  undisturbed  and  left  to  her  own  thoughts,  when  loud 
talking  and  laughing  on  the  staircase  told  Fritzine  had  returned. 
She  entered,  followed  by  her  party,  and  having  promenaded 
several  times  through  the  long  room,  until  she  appeared  satis- 
isfied  she  had  made  her  debut  to  advantage,  took  a  seat  in  I  he 
middle  of  the  apartment,  surrounded  by  her  German  friends, 
when  they  soon  seemed  engrossed  in  the  interests  of  chit-chat; 
while  Lydia,  believing  herself  forgotten  rather  than  neglected, 
had  concluded  to  spend  the  evening,  if  possible,  in  her  retreat, 
just  as  Fritzine  came  directly  to  the  window,  and  drawing 
aside  the  curtains,  as  if  she  knew  exactly  where  to  find  her,  said, 
in  her  tolerably  good  English, — 

"  Miss  Villiers,  do  you  sing  ?  " 

"  A  little,  Madam." 

"  So  do  I.     Play  on  the  harp  ?  " 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  sing;  please  come  and  play  my  accom- 
paniments for  me,  which  I  don't  know  how  to  do  myself." 

Lydia  complied ;  although  reluctantly,  as  she  felt  little  in- 
clined for  music  just  then,  and  took  her  seat  at  the  instrument. 
Fritzine's  voice  was  coarse,  and  she  was  much  wanting  in  style, 
so  that  Lydia  hoped  she  would  soon  be  succeeded  by  one  of  her 
more  able  country  women  ;  however,  it  was  not  until  she  had 
sung  "  An  Adelheid,"  "  Die  susse  Bell,"  "  Die  Alma,"  and 
a  few  others,  that  Sir  Charles  gave  indications  of  uneasiness, 
and  Lydia's  task  was  ended.  She  had  just  left  the  harp,  and 
was  passing  the  door,  when  it  opened,  and  Hermann,  followed 
by  Charles,  entered.  The  latter  went  immediately  in  search  of 
his  mother,  while  Hermann,  drawing  Lydia  aside,  addressed  her 
in  what  seemed  for  him  a  very  respectful  tone. 


a  spixster's  story.  147 

"  Miss  Villicrs,  T  certainly  must  apologize  for  my  behavior 
this  morning,  but  truly,  it  is  always  my  misfortune  to  fall  into 
error,  just  at  the  very  time  I  would  appear  to  most  advantage  ; 
yet  I  know  you  will  forgive." 

Lydia  smiled  at  the  hypocritical  expression  that  played  upon 
his  features  ;  and  attributing  his  former  rudeness  to  ignorance, 
willingly  took  his  extended  band,  and  seated  herself  by  him  on 
a  sofa. 

•'  Have  you  been  over  the  chateau  ?  "  continued  he,  "  because 
if  so  you  have  been  shown  the  haunted  chamber  But  it  is  im- 
possible for  you  to  feel  the  interest  in  it  that  I  do,  because  you 
cannot  imagine  what  belongs  to  it.  Ah,  T  know  by  your  look 
you  are  amused  at  my  idea  of  its  being  haunted,  and  T  well  re- 
member how  I  scorned  the  thought  of  a  jrhost  or  hob-rroblin, 
until  I  was  forced  to  have  firm  belief  in  such  spirits;  and  you 
would  acknowledge  their  existence  readily  enough,  should  you 
once  be  terrified  out  of  your  senses  as  I  was." 

"  And  that  would  not  be  very  easily  done."  And  Lydia 
laughed  as  she  saw  the  dread  and  horror  visible  in  the  counte- 
nance of  the  speaker. 

"  Ah,  yes ;  you  can  laugh  at  my  fears,  but  you  would  not  be 
willing  to  put  your  courage  to  the  test  by  sleeping  in  that  cham- 
ber." 

"  Indeed  I  should  ;  and  be  glad  to  show  you  I'm  not  so  weak 
as  to  be  influenced  by  any  reports  of  yours  or  the  foolish  old 
monk.  I  am  sure  I  should  sleep  as  soundly  in  your  haunted 
chamber  as  any  where,  so  far  as  your  spirits  are  concerned. 
And  I  am  ready  at  any  moment  to  convince  you  of  it,  for  really 
I  am  in  earnest." 

"  Well,  will  you  promise  me  to  sleep  there  to-night?  " 

"  I  will.  But  let  me  see,  where  is  it  situated,  should  I  be 
far  away  from  every  one  ?" 

"  Ah  !  you  wish  to  be  within  hearing,  I  see  !  " 

"  Indeed,  it  was  the  living  I  was  thinking  of,  not  the  spirits 
of  the  dead.  However,  I'll  not  let  my  courage  fail  me ;  yes,  I 
will  occupy  that  dreaded  room  to-night." 

"  Oh,  but  I  can't  bear  the  thought  of  your  running  such  a 
risk  ;  indeed,  those  apparitions  are  too  awful.  Although,  you 
have  promised  ;  and  as  to  human  forms,  you  can  lock  every  door 
you  can  find,  so  you  could  be  safe  from  their  intrusion.  You 
are  sure  you  know  the  right  room,  and  I  must  manage  to  get 
the  key  from  the  old  monk,  for  it  is  always  locked  that  none 
may  occupy  it.  But  you  will  not  be  willing  to  keep  your  prom- 
ise without  stating  it  to  your  friends,  and  they  will  soon  put  an 


148  a  spinster's  story. 

end  to  it ;  I  know  you're  not  as  courageous  as  you  wish  me  to 
think." 

"  ' »':,  if  you  suppose  that  would  make  any  difference,  I'll  say 
nothing  about  it." 

"  V< tv  well  ;   1  shall  soon  he  back  with  the  key." 

Lydia  looked  across  the  large  room,  and  saw  Charles,  who  had 
a  few  minutes  before  left  their  mother,  now  engaged  in  a  tcte-a- 
tete  with  Fritzine,  and  the  widow  was  alone.  She  had  just 
joined  her,  when  .Miss  Eliza  came  and  seated  herself  beside 
them. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  inquired  Mrs.  Villicrs,  "what  has  be- 
come of  your  sister  Cecilc  '!  I  looked  for  her  portrait  among 
the  rest,  but  found  it  missing." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  She  married  some  foreigner  much  against  fath- 
er's will,  and  went  to  Australia;  we  hoard  afterwards  she  had 
died,  leaving  a  little  child  ;  but  that  is  all  we  have  learned." 

The  noble  bearing  of  Charles  seemed  to  have  won  the  confi- 
dence of  Fritzine,  and  to  have  inspired  her,  for  the  time  being, 
with  a  courtesy  she  had  not  manifested  before  ;  for  she  called 
Mrs.  Villiers  and  Lydia  to  join  their  circle,  where  some  interest- 
ing topics  were  introduced,  and  Lydia  soon  forgot  the  haunted 
chamber.  They  were  not  long  in  discovering,  however,  that 
she  was  entertaining  as  a  musician,  and  it  was  not  until  much 
of  the  evening  had  been  passed  in  that  amusement,  and  Lydia 
had  sung  her  last  song,  that  Hermann  entered. 

The  time  was  beginning  to  drag  heavily  with  the  younger 
members  of  the  company,  when  Hermann  insisted  upon  read- 
ing from  a  manuscript  entitled,  "  Tales  of  La  Belle,"  which  he 
had  procured  from  the  monk.  It  appeared  to  contain  an  ac- 
count of  every  incident  of  note  that  had  occurred  since  the 
foundation  of  the  chateau ;  but  what  Hermann  selected  for  the 
present  evening,  were  those  relative  to  the  "  Chamber  of  Hor- 
rors." It  was  said  they  were  written  by  the  monk  as  they  oc- 
curred ;  and  being  mostly  striking  incidents,  very  well  told,  the 
circle  of  listeners,  with  very  few  exceptions,  seemed  deeply  im- 
pressed. 

According  to  this  chronicle,  some  years  previous,  several 
young  students  came  to  pass  their  vacation  at  La  Belle.  One 
of  them  was  noted  for  his  daring  and  adventurous  spirit ;  and 
defying  all  who  attempted  to  reason  with  him,  as  he  scorned 
their  entreaties,  insisted  upon  passing  the  night  in  the  chamber, 
where  he  was  assured  an  evil  spirit  always  moved  at  the  hour 
of  midnight.  It  was  winter  ;  a  fire  burned  brightly  in  the  grate, 
and  threw  its  flickering  light  round   the  apartment,  that  seemed 


a  spinster's  story.  149 

pervaded  with  the  stillness  of  the  sepulchre,  except  that  ever 
and  anon  the  screeching  of  the  owl,  as  it  left  its  hiding  place 
in  the  turret  for  the  neighboring  trees,  broke  the  dead  silence. 

Still  undaunted,  and  confiding  in  the  courageous  spirit  that  had 
so  animated  him  above  all  superstition,  he  drew  the  curtains 
closely  round  his  bed,  and  laid  himself  down  for  repose,  count- 
ing upon  the  laurels  he  should  wear  for  his  bravery  when  he 
met  his  companions  on  the  morrow.  The  clock  in  the  tower 
chimed  the  midnight  hour.  Suddenly  he  remembered  the  re- 
ports he  had  heard,  and  the  horror  that  had  depicted  the  faces 
of  the  speakers  as  they  warned  him  to  abandon  his  project ;  yet 
he  remained  fearless  as  ever.  He  was  just  falling  into  a  slum- 
ber ;  the  bell  tolled  the  half  hour  after  midnight,  and  the  sound 
had  died  away,  when  lo  !  a  distinct  footfall  upon  the  carpet  — 
ao-ain  he  listened  —  again  came  the  tread  ;  lifting  the  curtain 
he  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  And  behold,  it  was 
there  !  awfully  frightful  in  its  aspect,  standing  before  him  as 
though  just  emerged  through  the  wall.  The  form  was  tall,  and 
enshrouded  in  a  white  pall  that  parted  at  the  forehead,  leaving 
bare  the  face  and  neck  of  a  corpse,  whose  glaring  eyes  rolled 
in  their  sockets  as  if  seeking  some  object.  The  feet  that  pro- 
truded were  of  a  deathly  hue  ;  they  moved,  and  sounded  hard 
and  stiff  upon  the  floor.  Nearer  and  nearer,  and  now  it  stood 
beside  the  bed.  A  long  arm  was  raised,  quickly  it  drew  aside 
the  curtains,  and  laid  an  icy  hand  upon  the  youth,  while  a  voice 
hollow  and  unearthly  came  forth  — 

"  Now,  courageous  mortal,  defy  me  if  thou  canst!  " 

Trembling  with  horror,  as  the  cold  sweat  rolled  upon  his  pil- 
low, he  was  about  to  call  for  aid,  when  a  firm  hand  was  placed 
upon  his  brow,  and  the  power  of  speech  was  gone  The  clock 
struck  two,  the  icy  fingers  were  lifted ;  the  form  left  the  bed- 
side, and  glided  round  the  room,  often  coming  and  looking  over 
the  curtains  upon  the  horrified  youth ;  then  moving  away  as  it 
uttered  an  exulting  cry  in  that  deep  sepulchral  tone.  Again  it 
moved  round  the  be  I,  and  now  seated  itself  upon  the  feet  of 
the  affrighted  boy,  while  it  held  as  in  a  vice,  his  trembling 
limbs. 

"Place  thyself  again  in  my  power,"  said  the  voice,  "and 
then  shalt  thou  not  escape  !  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence  ;  at  last  the  bell  in  the  tower  broke 
the  awful  stillness,  as  it  tolled  the  hour  of  three  :  the  long  arms 
relinquished  their  hold,  the  form  was  uplifted,  and  as  the  youth 
raised  his  eyes  again,  it  vanished.  Terrified  beyond  utterance, 
for  hours  he   lay  motionless.     Morning  dawned,  and  the   bright 


150  a  spixster's  story. 

rays  of  the  glorious  sun  shone  cheerly  through  the  stained 
glass;  yet  an  indescribable  horror  pervaded  the  chamber.  lie 
sprang  from  the  bed,  threw  his  garments  loosely  around  hiin 
ami  fled  from  the  room.  lie  sought  his  companions,  told  his 
story,  and  alarmed  at  his  affrighted  look,  they  returned  with 
bitn  to  tin;  haunted  chamber.  But  every  door  remained  locked 
on  the  inside  as  before  ;  every  window  was  still  barred  and 
bolted  ;  they  searched  long  for  some  undiscovered  entrance,  but 
in  vain.  Now  they  laughed  at  his  tale,  scoffed  at  his  fears, 
called  him  coward,  ami  the  dupe  of  a  mere  freak  of  his  nervous 
system,  that  had  painted  this  vision  to  his  fancy  while  he  was 
dreaming.  lie  was  hurt  at  the  ridicule,  and  wandered  away 
from  them  during  the  day.  At  night-fall  they  gathered  again 
for  the  evening  entertainments,  when  he  also  joined  them. 
Again  they  taunted  him,  and  upbraided  him  for  his  irresolution 
and  want  of  courage,  his  weak,  wavering  mind,  and  supersti- 
tious fancies ;  and  defied  his  willingness  to  pass  another  night 
in  the  chamber,  lest  the  ghost  should  carry  him  off,  or  deprive 
him  of  life.  They  were  about  to  say  good-night,  his  lip  was 
compressed  and  the  nostril  quivered  as  he  eyed  them  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  darted  out  of  their  sight. 

"He  ha-;  gone  to  try  his  courage  again,"  said  his  jesting 
companions,  ''so  let  him,  for  he  bore  the  name  of  the  bravest 
among  us." 

The  next  morning  they  were  assembled  round  the  breakfast 
table  ;  twice  the  bell  had  been  rung  at  his  door,  yet  he  had  not 
joined  them.  The  meal  ended,  they  repaired  to  the  noted 
room;  the  door  was  fastened;  they  knocked  loudly  —  no  an- 
swer. ''  Depend  upon  it,  the  hobgoblin  has  devoured  him,"  said 
they,  as  their  rapping  became  more  violent. 

Alarmed  at  his  silence,  the  door  was  finally  burst  open,  and 
they  entered.  A  wild  laugh  rang  through  the  apartment,  al- 
though they  saw  not  whence  it  came.  They  approached  the 
bed,  parted  the  closely  drawn  curtains,  and  oh,  the  awful  scene  ! 
There,  seated  upright  in  the  bed,  was  their  noble  companion, 
surrounded  by  the  dolls  he  had  formed  of  the  bed-clothes,  of 
which,  piece  by  piece  he  had  stripped  himself.  They  clustered 
roun  1  him,  called  to  him,  clasped  him  in  their  arms;  but  again 
the  idiot  laugh  resounded  through  the  chamber,  and  mingled 
of  il  '-pair. 

Servants  were  summoned;  submissively  he  yielded  to  be 
dressed,  an  1  they  bore  him  from  that  ill-fated  chamber.  His 
friends  were  sent  for,  and  the  beloved  parents  conveyed  the 
once  promising  youth,  an  idiot,  to  their  desolate  home. 


A    SPIXSTEtt's    STORY.  151 

"Well,"  said  Charles,  as  Hermann  closed  the  manuscript, 
u  we  are  taught  by  the  wisest,  that, 

"  Myriad  spirits  walk  the  earth  ;  " 

although  you  cannot  make  me  believe  they  are  ever  visible  to  us  ; 
still,  I  must  acknowledge  nothing  would  tempt  me  to  pass  a 
night  in  that  room." 

"  Oh  Charles !  "  And  as  Lydia  spoke,  perplexity  and  doubt 
were  indelibly  stamped  upon  every  feature  of  the  fair  counte- 
nance. 

"  Why  Lydia,  I'll  tell  you.  We  know  it's  impossible  to  pos- 
sess a  sound  mind  in  an  unsound  body,  and  at  the  time  of  the 
wreck,  I  received  a  wound  in  my  head  from  which  I  have  not 
thoroughly  recovered,  and  as  yet  I  often  feel  my  nerves  so 
completely  unstrung,  that  I  could  not  guarantee  my  courage 
there  to  be  uncontrolled  by  whatever  foolish  fancies  might  get 
the  better  of  me  ;  so  that,  instead  of  helping  to  convince!  the 
superstitious  of  their  error,  I  might  only  add  to  that  dismal  eal- 
endar ;  "  pointing  to  the  roll  in  Hermann's  hand,  and  smiling, 
while  the  majority  asserted  that  it  would  be  the  very  essence  of 
imprudence  to  think  of  retiring  in  the  haunted  chamber,  no  mat- 
ter what  their  courage  might  be,  when  so  many  proofs  had  al- 
ready been  given  them  to  serve  as  a  warning. 

"  Besides,"  said  Miss  Eliza,  "we  allow  no  one  to  occupy  it 
since  sj  many  have  been  frightened  ;  in  fact,  that  poor  idiot  was 
the  last  who  slept  there  ;  and  will  ever  be,  while  I  remain  at 
La  Belle,  for  the  monk  keeps  sole  possession  of  the  key." 

They  arose  to  separate  for  the  night ;  Hermann  glanced  at 
Lydia,  as  though  to  read  in  that  face  whether  she  was  shaken 
in  her  resolution,  or  stdl  firm  in  her  decision.  But  it  would 
have  required  greater  penetration  than  his  to  determine  that. 

"  Here's  the  key/'  said  he  in  a  low  tone  to  her,  as  they 
passed  to  the  door. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  her  expression  was  be- 
wildered ;  however,  she  took  the  key  as  he  held  it  towards  her, 
and  hid  it  within  the  folds  of  her  dress.  The  cold  metal  seemed 
to  chill  the  veins  to  freezing  as  she  grasped  it  in  her  fingers,  yet 
she  passed  on  with  the  throng,  and  stood  upon  the  staircase  to 
say  good-night. 

"  Lydia,  you  look  pale,  or  else  I  fancy  so,"  said  Charles  as 
he  kissed  her  eheek.  "  Let  me  see  you  to  your  room,  then  I 
shall  know  you  are  safe,  for  the  whole  house  is  not  haunted,  you 
know." 


152  A  spinster's    story. 

He  led  her  to  her  apartment,  which  he  had  decorated  with 
flowers  during  the  day,  an  I  their  fragrance  filled  the  room  with 
a  sweet  odor;  but  Lydia  scarcely  noticed  them,  although  she 
thanked  him  as  he  inquired  if  she  liked  them,  and  placing  her 
ipon  the  table,  be  left  the  room.  She  stood  with  her  hand 
upon  the  lock,  and  beard  bis  receding  footsteps,  as  they  he- 
came  fainter  and  fainter;  she  was  half  determined  to  call  him 
hack  Imt  he  had  now  reached  the  end  of  the  long  gallery,  and 
she  heard  him  ascend  another  flight,  and  close  his  door. 

She  re-entered  her  room,  and  taking  up  a  time-worn  copy  of 
the  Scriptures  that  lay  upon  an  oaken  cabinet,  she  read  the 
nineteenth  Psalm  and  offered  to  heaven  her  evening  prayer. 
Then  she  hastily  undressed,  threw  a  morning  gown  about  her, 
ami  taking  her  lamp,  the  heroic  girl  left  the  room  to  grope  her 
way  stealthily  to  "  the  haunted  chamber." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"The  die  is  cast  —  and  soon  they'll  lead  me  forth 
To  take  the  name  I  loathe,  and  weep  to  hear  ; 
And  once  within  his  house  to  bear  the  lot 
Of  my  most  wretched  fate, 
Despair  will  drive  me  on  to  madness'  brink. 
And  how  will  end  this  catalogue  of  woes  ?  " 

The  next  morning  Alfred  arose  early  and  hastened  to  Anna's 
room.  At  this  hour  he  generally  found  her  door  unfastened,  as  a 
sign  that  he  might  enter ;  but  it  now  remained  locked  as  before, 
and  fearing  to  awaken  Mrs.  Gilbert  or  Susan,  he  tapped  gen- 
tly, and  took  his  seat  upon  the  stairs  to  await  her  answer.  His 
intercourse  with  Susan  on  the  previous  evening,  had  produced 
such  a  perturbed  state  of  mind,  that  he  had  slept  badly  —  his 
rest  being  constantly  broken  by  some  sudden  consciousness  of 
his  father's  death,  and  Anna's  wretchedness.  And  now,  as  he 
sat  at  her  door,  anxiously  waiting  to  hear  her  stirring,  it  occurred 
to  him  how  much  she  must  have  to  communicate,  and  that  it 
would  be  impossible  for  her  to  sleep  beyond  her  usual  hour  un- 
less she  were  ill.  Unable  to  endure  his  fears  any  longer,  he 
arose  and  shook  the  door  witli  a  violence  that  caused  one  in  an 
opposite  direction  to  open,  and  the  night-cap  of  Susan  protrud- 
ed therefrom. 

"  Alfred,  what  in  this  world  are  you  about  ?     I  declare,  there 
is  no  rest  where  boys  are.     Always  at  something ;  just  as  though 


a  spinster's  story.  153 

you  couldn't  as  well  make  that  hammering  after  T  was  up.  Rut 
it's  just  like  you;  nothing  but  a  nuisance ;  never  so  nappy  as 
when  you're  plaguing  me." 

"  Ami  think  of  my  poor  head  and  shoulders  in  the  door  last 
night !  "  said  a  voice  within  the  chamber.  ■'  I  don't  suppose 
they've  any  color  or  shape  left  in  them  ;  and  perhaps  I  shall  lie 
bedridden  for  a  long  lifetime  in  consequence  :  just  think  of  it." 

"  Alfred,  it's  no  use  for  you  to  keep  up  that  noise  ;  I  have 
the  key  of  the  door  safe  enough,  so,  at  all  events,  you  are  not 
going  to  see  her  until  I  choose  you  shall ;  and  the  sooner  you  are 
quiet  the  better." 

"  What,  woman  !  Do  you  suppose  I  wait  your  will?  No  !  " 
Ami  with  one  scientific  thrust  he  burst  open  the  door. 

Susan  fell  back  as  she  looked  upon  the  scene  within, and  had 
Alfred  been  watching  her  countenance,  he  might  have  seen  she 
turned  pale. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  upon  the  floor,  lay  the  form  of  An- 
na, while  the  long  flaxen  hair  fell  in  dishevelment  over  the 
face  and  shoulders.  Lifting  the  apparently  lifeless  lxxby  to  the 
bed,  he  parted  the  disordered  tresses,  and  kissing  the  icy  brow, 
waited  in  agony  for  some  sign  of  life. 

Susan  looked  for  a  moment  upon  the  marble  face,  to  whose 
pleading  expression  during  the  previous  day,  she  had  been  so 
cruelly  blinded  ;  then  uttered  a  shrill  shriek,  whereupon  a  mea- 
gre little  figuie  in  her  night-clothes  hobbled  into  the  room. 

"  Keep  away  from  her,  both  of  you  ;  "  said  Alfred  putting 
his  arms  closely  round  Anna  as  if  to  protect  her  from  their 
hands.  "  Never  let  me  see  either  of  you  again  !  "  added  he  in 
wild  desperation,  as  he  saw  Anna  still  motionless  before  him. 

But  the  two  spectators  seemed  riveted  to  the  spot,  and  con- 
tinued to  gaze  first  at  Alfred,  then  at  their  unfortunate  victiia. 
It  was  long  before  Anna  showed  any  signs  of  life,  yet  at  last 
the  large  blue  eyes  opened,  and  looking  wildly  around  her,  she 
exclaimed  as  she  clung  nervously  to  Alfred,  "  Don't  let  me  see 
him  !  oh  I'm  afraid  I  shall  hate  them  !  " 

The  hours  glided  away,  and  the  sun  had  reached  the  zenith, 
'before  Alfred's  attempts  to  restore  her  to  composure  proved  of 
any  avail.  But  now  a  new  motive  seemed  to  actuate  her,  and 
with  an  effort  she  arose,  and  seating  herself  beside  him  said, 
"  Indeed,  I  am  not  so  very  unhappy  as  you  think,  although  I'm 
dreadfully  agitated,  but  then  I  know  it's  more  excitement  than 
real  misery." 

She  gave  him  an  account  of  the  events  of  the  previous  day, 
but  carefully  avoided  to  mention  anything  that  might  tend  to 
7* 


154  a  spin-star's  story. 

c  mvince  him  of  the  true  Btate  of  her  feelings,  as  she  intended 
to  keep  her  wretchedness  exclusively  to  berself;  fearing  lest  his 
anger  shoul  1  be  excited,  and  they  rashly  turn  away  from  what 
■  1  the  only  resource  :  and  so  successful  was  her  self- 
i  calm  and  collected  her  argument  as  she  reasoned 
\.  h  him,  that  at  last,  finding  herself  conqueror  over  his  fears 
an  1  misgivings,  she  was  satisfied  that  the  effjrt,  painful  as  it  was, 
had  been  effectual. 

It  was  growing  late  ;  and  having  clasped  her  in  a  long  em- 
brace  as  lie  breathed  many  a  blessing  upon  the  cold  brow,  Al- 
fred hasted  away. 

Anna  was  alone  ;  and  fearing  to  remain  unoccupied  lest  mel- 
holy  should  gaui  the  mastery  over  her,  she  quickly  left  her 
room,  and  soon  busied  herself  mechanically  among  the  culinary 
affiirs  below  ;  but  even  these  had  an  end,  and  glad  to  escape 
from  Susan,  and  not  wanting  to  meet  the  penetrative  glance  of 
Mr.  Everett,  she  took  her  place  at  a  window  to  watch  for  Al- 
fred's return.  It  was  said  Mr.  Everett  would  leave  shortly  for 
a  tour  through  Europe,  and  now  the  Villiers  were  srone,  it  seemed 
as  though  it  would  be  losing  the  only  friend  left  to  them,  should 
ho  take  his  departure  ;  and  Anna  continued  to  hope  it  was 
only  a  vague  report. 

This  evening  Alfred  returned  earlier  than  usual.  He  had 
been  thinking  much  of  his  father,  and  knowing  Anna  knew 
nothing  of  his  death,  was  anxious  to  communicate  the  sad  in- 
telligence, that  the  painful  task  might  be  over,  and  the  first 
dreaded  outburst  of  grief  subsided. 

It  was  twilight  as  they  sat  there  in  the  little  back  parlor,  and 
although  the  shadows  were  fast  lengthening  without,  Alfred 
wailed  for  the  fading  day-light  to  have  passed  away,  that  he 
might  not  behold  the  agonized  countenance  of  Anna  when  she 
became  aware  that  they  were  orphans.  He  had  told  it;  and 
when  she  desired  to  learn  more  in  regard  to  the  sad  event,  he 
exclaimed,  "  wait  here,  I  shall  soon  be  back,  and  will  tell  you." 
He  went  in  search  of  Susan.  She  was  apparently  very  inter- 
estingly occupied  looking  over  the  contents  of  her  wardrobe ; 
however,  as  she  had  been  agreeably  surprised  at  Alfred's  mild 
behavior  since  his  intercourse  with  Anna  in  the  morning,  and 
greatly  rejoiced  at  his  not  manifesting  any  "  tiger-like"  spirit, 
for  which  she  always  gave  him  full  credit,  she  was  willing  to 
look  up  from  the  bottom  of  the  trunk  where  she  was  so  busily 
engaged,  into  his  face,  to  hear  what  he  wanted. 

"  Susan,  do  please  to  come  down  stairs  for  a  moment !  " 

She  made  no  reply,  but  followed  him  into  the  room  ;  Anna's 


A    SriXSTEUS    STORY.  155 

face  was  bathed  in  tears,  hut  Susan  had  become  accustomed  to 
that  of  late,  and  scarcely  noticing  her.  placed  herself  at  her 
ease  in  a  chair  which  Alfred  bad  wheeled  towards  her. 

"  Now,  Susan,"  said  he,  "  we  wish  you  to  tell  us  of  our  father." 

"  What  about  him  ?  " 

"  All  you  know  of  his  death." 

"  Oh,  is  he  dead  ?  " 

"  Why,  didn't  you  tell  me  so  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  never  told  you  I  knew  he  was  dead  ;  hut  then  any  one 
would  suppose  su,  wouldn't  they?  " 

"  Then  you  really  have  not  heard  that  he  is  dead  !  "  exclaim- 
ed Anna,  looking  up  through  her  tears.  "And  have  not  re- 
ceived any  tidings  whatever  ?  " 

"  And  what's  more,  never  shall  ;  "  and  Susan  rose  to  leave, — 
"  so  you  maybe  thankful  for  your  good  fortune."  And  she 
was  soon  encompassed  again  by  fringe,  furbelows,  and  flounces, 
in  which  she  seemed  to  take  a  sole  delight. 

It  was  lovely  June,  and  the  soft  balmy  air  of  the  morning  as 
it  wafted  in  at  Anna's  window,  seemed  to  waft  away  much  of 
the  gloom  that  had  so  long  hung  over  her.  It  had  now  been 
many  weeks  since  Mrs.  Gilbert's  house  was  graced  with  the 
form  of  a  Judy  ;  consequently  Anna  had  become  so  habituated 
to  the  household  duties,  that  they  fell  less  heavily  upon  her,  or 
rather,  her  experience  in  them,  had  taught  her  the  easiest  way 
of  performing  them  ;  and  she  had  just  completed  the  most  ar- 
duous of  these  that  pertained  to  the  morning,  and  was  about  to 
prepare  the  scanty  meal  they  took  at  noon,  called  dinner,  when 
there  came  a  ring  at  the  bell,  and  Miss  Pyke  entered.  She  was 
met  in  the  entry  by  Susan,  who  took  her  into  the  parlor,  and 
closing  the  door,  they  chatted  for  some  time,  after  which  Susan 
came  to  Anna  and  said, — 

"  Never  mind  those  things,  we  shall  soon  have  far  better  din- 
ners than  these,  with  plenty  of  good  dessert,  fine  wines,  and  the 
like;  so  go  and  dress  now  and  come  out  with  us.  Yes,  we 
shall  have  glorious  feasts  ;  in  fact,  I  could  fast  for  a  week  upon 
the  strength  of  the  anticipation.  Make  haste  and  put  on  the 
dress  I  gave  you,  and  although  you  will  soon  have  much  hand- 
somer ones,  still  it  was  very  kind  of  me." 

Anna  was  about  to  ask  for  what  purpose  they  were  going  out, 
but  concluding  it  was  to  make  purchases  in  preparation  for  the 
wedding,  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  left  the  kitchen  to  fulfill 
Susan's  command.  As  she  was  tying  her  bonnet,  her  eye  fell 
upon  the  mirror,  and  she  started  when  she  saw  what  an  altered 
countenance  it  reflected.  Pale,  emaciated,  and  care-worn,  it  too 
truly  depicted  the  wretchedness  that  struggled  within. 


156  a  spinster's  story. 

"  And  no  wonder  !  "  said  Anna.  "  Bat  greater  misery  is  to 
come,  and  I  might  endeavor  to  be  less  unhappy  daring  this  re- 
prieve that  is  allotted  me." 

She  descended  to  the  parlor  whore  Miss  Pykc  was  alone,  as 
Susan  always  required  considerable  tune  for  making  her  toilet. 

"  Well}  my  dear  Anna,  I'm  delighted  to  see  you  ;  and  look- 
ing so  remarkably  well,  too  !  But  then  any  one  would,  with 
such  prospects  as  yours.  Besides,  you  will  soon  be  mistress  in 
your  now  home,  and  can  have  the  satisfaction  of  being  avenged 
of  your  enemies  here,  by  turning  them  out  of  your  house,  when- 
ever it  suits  you  ;  for  you  know  you  will  be  able  to  have  your 
own  way  in  everything ;  because,  strange  beings  as  men  are, 
wives  can  always  exercise  an  irresistible  sway  over  them.  What 
an  elegant  life  you  will  load  !  Ah  !  I  have  often  thought  such 
would  he  my  lot;  whereas,  while  some  can  be  married  two  and 
three  times,  I  must  remain  Miss  Sarah  Christiana  Pykc,  just 
because  it  is  my  destiny.  I'm  sure  the  good  things  of  this  world 
are  very  unequally  divided." 

Here  Susan  joined  them,  and  they  left  the  house.  Having 
proceeded  through  several  streets,  they  at  last  entered  the  one 
in  which  stood  the  house  of  Robert  Barrow,  Esq.,  and  Anna's 
heart  beat  quickly  as  she  followed  them  up  to  the  door.  Mrs. 
Barrow  seemed  to  have  been  expecting  her  visitors,  and  give 
them  a  very  cordial  reception,  especially  Anna,  whom  she  held 
firmly  in  her  grasp  until  her  caresses  were  disagreeable  in  the 
extreme.  They  were  then  taken  all  over  the  house,  and  upon 
reaching  the  second  story,  were  shown  into  an  apartment  which 
Anna  was  told  would  bo  her  dressing-room.  She  glanced  round 
her;  and  her  attention  was  arrested  by  a  painting  over  the 
mantle-piece.  She  gazed  for  a  moment ;  it  was  enough  ;  there 
hung  the  lost  portrait  upon  which  she  and  Alfred  had  so  loved 
to  look,  as  they  talked  of  the  mother  who,  although  gone  from 
them  forever,  still  lived  sacred  in  their  memory.  And  over- 
come by  the  joyful  surprise  she  sunk  into  the  nearest  seat,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Poor,  dear  girl !  "  said  Mrs.  Barrow,  embracing  her,  "  you 
feel  lonely  without  Robert,  don't  you  '?  But  now  that  he's  go- 
ing to  be  married  he  intends  to  ret  ire  from  business,  so  that  you 
will  always  have  him  at  home  with  you." 

Miss  Pyke  and  Susan  exchanged  significant  glances  upon 
hearing  this  intelligence,  while  the  former,  ever  ready  with  her 
volubdity  added, — 

"  And  that  will  be  the  greatest  comfort  ;  because  it  is  the 
close  intimacy  of  such  an  inseparable  union  that  we  so  pine  for 


a  spinster's  story.  157 

in  this  life.     In  fact,  we  all  aim  at  that,  as  the  great  object  of 
OUT   existence.      Yes,  Anna  will  be  very  happy  !      And  indeed, 
Mrs.  Barrow,  she   is  very  grateful,  and  loves  your  son  with  a 
passion  that  amounts  to  adoration." 
'*  Does  she,  indeed  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  But  girls  never  manifest  it,  because  it  would  not 
be  etiquette;  they  are  obliged,  especially  while  they  arc  en- 
gaged, to  evince  the  most  extreme  hatred  for  the  very  object 
they  would  die  to  serve.  It  is  always  so,  and  that  accounts  for 
Anna's  strange  behavior." 

"  Indeed,  I  was  not  aware  of  it." 

"  No,  because  you  are  such  an  old  lady,  and  all  the  laws  of 
love  have  been  altered  since  you  were  young  " 

"  They  have,  most  certainly  ;  yes,  I  am  an  old  lady." 
They  were  summoned  below ;  Anna  controlled   her  feelings 
and  descended  with  them  to  the  dining-room,  where  an  inviting 
collation  awaited  them. 

Their  hostess  had  appeared  distressed  about  Anna's  tears,  and 
now  placed  her  in  a  chair  by  her  side,  and  often  wiped  the 
swollen  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  napkin.  She  was  also  very 
assiduous  that  Anna  should  eat,  and  Anna  did  endeavor,  but  the 
attempt  was  fruitless  ;  ami  finding  nothing  short  of  emptying 
her  plate  would  put  an  end  to  the  urgent  pressing  of  the  old 
lady,  of  whose  annoyance  she  was  heartily  weary,  she  several 
times  emptied  the  contents  into  her  pocket,  and  at  last  her  host- 
ess, whose  perception  was  not  the  most  keen,  declared  to  all 
parties,  that  Anna  had  a  most  astonishing  appetite  when  she 
once  began. 

Anna  was  glad  when  her  companions  arose  to  leave,  although 
they  seemed  to  have  as  main'  topics  to  discuss  when  they  reach- 
ed the  door,  as  they  had  had  since  they  entered  it,  and  she 
thought  they  never  should  reach  the  street.  However,  at  last 
the  final  good-by  was  said,  and  they  passed  into  the  open  air. 
Susan  now  informed  Anna  it  was  their  intention  to  purchase 
immediately  her  wedding  suit,  and  that  they  would  lose  no  time 
in  repairing  to  the  best  emporiums  of  fashion  for  that  purpose. 
She  assured  them  she  had  no  preference  in  the  matter,  and  that 
she  would  rather  have  them  choose  for  her,  and  allow  her  to  re- 
turn home  — a  request  with  which  they  readily  complied  ;  and 
Anna  left  them  pursuing  their  way,  while  she  retraced  her  steps 
homeward. 

As  she  entered  the  house  she  was  met  by  Mr.  Everett  ;  he 
appeared  much  excited,  and  without  speaking,  put  a  letter  in 
her  hands,  then  turned  hastily  away,  entered  his  room  and  fast- 
ened the  door. 


158  a  bpinstjbb's   story. 

The  direction  was  in  Lydia's  hand  ;  Anna  went  into  the  par- 
lor to  peruse  it.  [I  had  been  written  just  as  she  reached  Ber- 
lin, to  assure  Anna  of  their  safe  arrival  in  that  city;  and  being 
too  weary  that  night  to  pen  more,  she  promised  a  full  account 
of  their  voyage  by  the  next  mail. 

Anna  was  carefully  folding  the  sheet,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  Mr.  Everett  entered.  His  cheek  was  flushed,  the  hair 
and  cravat  disarranged,  and  for  him,  the  whole  appearance  was 
one  of  great  dishevelment.  Looking  wildly  upon  the  envelope 
in  her  hand  he  said  in  a  hurried  tone, — 

"  Oh,  Anna  —  pardon  me,  but  you  have  heard  from  Lydia  — 
I  recognized  the  handwriting  !  "  and  he  continued  to  glance 
inquiringly  at  the  letter. 

"  Yes,  from  Lydia  ;  "  and  she  held  it  towards  him. 

"  Ah,  I  should  know  the  hand  anywhere  — so  very  elegant  ! 
But  no  !  take  it  —  I  only  wish  to  know  if  there  is  any  special 
news  in  it  —  I  mean  anything  unexpected  ?  " 

Surprised  at  a  manner  so  entirely  new  to  the  young  minister, 
Anna  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  utter  bewilderment,  as  she 
thought  of  various  reports  that  had  been  in  circulation  since 
Lydia  left,  in  regard  to  her  and  the  individual  who  now  stood 
before  her.  Then  recollecting  herself,  she  opened  the  letter 
and  read  the  contents  to  him. 

"  And  that  is  all !  "  The  words  no  sooner  escaped  him  than 
he  rushed  from  the  room. 

At  a  late  hour  the  purchasers  returned  ;  and  soon  after,  a 
monstrously  large  parcel  arrived,  and  was  opened  upon  the  floor 
of  the  parlor,  in  order  that  all  curiosity  might  take  a  peep  at 
what  was  therein.  There  were  silks,  velvets,  laces,  and  flowers 
of  the  most  costly  description,  which  Miss  Pyke  took  up  one 
after  another,  and  held  to  full  view  ;  and  whenever  it  were  pos- 
sible, placed  them  upon  her  person,  and  displayed  them  to  bet- 
ter a  Ivantage  by  parading  the  room. 

"  But  so  much  of  everything!  "  said  Anna,  as  Miss  Pyke 
continued  to  remind  her  they  were  "  Miss  Wentworth's." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Susan,  you  don't  suppose  I  was  going 
to  forget  myself,  do  you?  indeed,  I  like  good  things  as  well  as 
any  one,  and  wouldn't  be  fool  enough  to  let  such  an  opportunity 
escape  me" 

Anna  was  going  to  inquire  where  the  money  came  from, 
then  recollecting  none  other  than  the  singular  little  old  man 
could  have  furnished  it  she  said  nothing,  but  carried  the  articles 
allotted  her  to  her  own  little  room,  and  shut  them  up  in  a  closet 
out  of  her  sight.     Although  she  could  not  but  admire  their  el- 


a  spinster's  story.  159 

egance,  they  ill  accorded  with  her  simple  taste  ;  and  the  idea 
of  a  plain  little  body  like  herself  being  the  cause  of  so  much 
expenditure,  when  it  only  augmented  her  wretchedness,  and 
might  have  been  used  to  so  much  better  advantage,  was  exceed- 
ingly painful  to  her ;  however,  by  the  time  Alfred  returned,  such 
had  been  her  victory  over  herself,  that  she  could  meet  him  with 
a  smile  upon  a  countenance  void  of  all  traces  of  tears. 

The  house  of  Mrs.  Gilbert,  usually  so  dull  and  monotonous, 
had  suddenly  bee  true  a  scene  of  bustle  and  confusion.  Pari- 
sian dress-makers  ami  milliners,  surrounded  by  a  profusion  of 
silks,  ribbons,  trimmings,  etc.,  occupied  the  whole  of  the  second 
story,  where  seldom  an  hour  passed,  without  the  angry  tones  of 
Susan  resounding  through  the  rooms,  ;is  she  found  herself  unable 
to  comprehend  immediately  the  broken  English  of  the  French 
women.  A  Judy,  somewhat  more  tolerable  in  her  appearance 
than  any  of  her  predecessors,  had  lately  been  engaged  ;  while 
at  meal  time,  the  dishes,  which  for  so  many  years  had  graced 
the  table  with  their  watery  rice  and  sago,  were  now  allowed  to 
contain  some  more  palatable  aliment  :  and  altogether,  the  dom- 
icile at  number  1-4  Claremont  Place,  had  undergone  a  thorough 
mutation. 

Day  after  day,  Anna  was  required  to  remain  above  stairs  to 
act  as  interpreter ;  and  often  was  she  forced  to  hesitate  and 
blush,  when  commanded  to  translate  the  peremptory  and  impu- 
dent orders  of  the  violent  Susan. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  Anna,  wearied  with  the  con- 
fusion and  excitement  in  which  she  was  centred,  was  longing 
for  an  opportunity  to  carry  her  from  that  maze  of  bewilderment, 
when  the  bell  rang.  Suddenly  she  recollected  it  was  the  day 
she  must  tolerate  one  of  those  visits  that  had  become  lately  so 
extremely  odious  to  her,  and  to  which  she  always  looked  forward 
with  so  much  repugnance  ;  and  wh.en  she  remembered  it  must 
be  her  lot  once  again  to  submit  for  the  space  of  two  weary  hours, 
and  suffjr  the  fawning  caresses  of  that  repulsive  little  old  man, 
whom  she  so  intensely  disliked,  it  seemed  that  in  preference,  she 
would  have  remained  for  ever  there  by  the  side  of  the  tyranni- 
cal Susan  ;  and  when  Judy  brought  word  that  she  was  inquired 
for,  the  tears  started,  and  she  stood  for  a  moment  as  though  un- 
willing to  move. 

"  There,  go  along,  girl !  "  said  Susan,  giving  no  very  gentle 
push,  which  sent  her  with  some  force  into  the  lap  of  a  milliner, 
who  had  been  endeavoring,  during  two  whole  days,  to  suit  Su- 
san's fastidious  taste  in  regard  to  a  bonnet.  Upon  seeing  the 
broken  shape,  aud  destroyed  fir-apples  that  had  decorated  it, 


1G0  a  spin-stick's    story. 

ami  which  sthe  d  sclare  1  w  sre  the  only  ones  in  the  city,  she  gave 
one  look  at  the  affrighted  Anna,  who  knew  Full  well  what  would 
,  the  fiorj  !'  those  desperate  eyes,  and  leaving  the 

enraged  French  woman  to  battle  with  Susan  as  best  Bhe  could, 
in  i  le  her  way  over  dresses  and  dress -makers,  and  was  glad 
to  find  herself  upon  the  stairs.  She  expected  to  hear  a  little 
'  singular  inton  ition  procee  1  from  the  parlor,  but 
all  was  still  there,  and  only  the  tumult  above  could  be  beard. 
For  some  tiaie  she  stood,  glad  to  rob  even  one  minute  from  the 
time  that  must  be  spent  within  that  room.  At  last  rapid  foot- 
steps approache  1  the  dour,  and  upon  opening  it,  the  little  figure 
of  the  pretty  Kate  stool  before  her. 

'•  [  was  just  going  to  abscond,  much  as  I  want  to  know  if  all 
that  I  have  been  hearing  of  you  is  true.  Come  here,"  drawing 
her  to  a  sofa,  "  now  do  tell  me,  is  it  tine  '.'  But  it  cannot  be  ! 
Surely  you  have  a  little  more  self-respect,  and  never  could  so 
disgrace  yourself  for  your  whole  lifetime.  What  !  be  engaged 
to  such  a  creature  :  Why,  there  can't  bean  inch  of  him  but 
what  is  all  withered  and  shrivelled  up  ;  and  by  the  look  of  his 
face,  the  flesh  has  mortified  long  ago  ;  and  how  you  can  sit  Dear 
him  and  talk  to  him,  and  hear  that  voice  of  his,  really  is  more 
than  lean  imagine.  We  used  to  blame  poor  Minerva  for  caring 
for  that  young  fellow,  but  lie  was  young  and  fresh,  not  a  stale 
old  article  like  this  Barrow  of  yours,  who  has  been  for  sale 
these  fifty  years.  Just  think  of  it,  his  mother  is  ninety-three, 
and  she  has  been  a  widow  for  sixty-one  years  ;  now  how  young 
can  you  make  him  out,  pray  ?  And  you  a  young  girl  not  yet 
iteen  !  But  surely  you  never  can  agree  to  anything  so  aw- 
ful. Oh  !  Yes,  a  ring  !  Then  it  is  indeed  true  !  Anna,  An- 
na !  No,  I  cannot  even  pity  you,  though  it  is  so  dreadful,  and 
you  are  a  nice  sort  of  a  girl,  too.  But  do  tell  me,  who  is  to  lie 
bride-maid '!  Oh  no!  never  mind;  I'm  sure  nothing  could 
tempt  me  to  be  present  even  at  such  an  affair,  much  less  have 
any  part  in  it.     But  who  is  that  at  the  door?  " 

With  dismay  Anna  heard  little  footsteps  in  the  passage  ;  the 
door  of  the  parlor  opened,  and  the  dreaded  individual  made  his 
ice.      As  soon  as  Kate's  eyes  fell  upon  him,    she  made 
one  bound  for  the  door,  which  the   little  old  gentleman  held  in 
his  han  I :  and  i :  him  time  to  relinquish  his  hold,  brushed 

so  hurriedly  by,  that  she  sent  him  staggering  against  the  wall. 

Ann  i    tly  after  her  as  she  glided  out  of  the  house  ; 

an  instinctive  feeling  prompte  i  her  to  follow  her  into  the  op  i 
air,  and  leaving  the  confines  of  that  unhappy  dwelling,  forget 
the  affection  that  bound  her  to  one  of  its  inmates,  and  be  free  ; 


a  spinster's  story.  161 

free  to  roam  at  will,  though  it  bo  far  away  from  the  haunts  of 
man,  on  the  distant  prairie  in  the  track  of  the  Imff.ilo,  or  on  the 
desert  sands,  alone  on  that  wild  waste  to  perish  ;  even  there  to 
be  free  —  anywhere,  to  feel  no  spirit  within  urging  to  what  she 
knew  to  he  wrong, — anywhere,  to  shed  alone  the  last  tear,  and 
with  nought  hut  the  canopy  of  Heaven  above  and  around  her, 
there  breathe  the  last  petition  for  a  spirit  of  purity,  meet  for  those 
mansions  of  the  redeemed  ;  and  there,  in  the  presence  of  the  Tri- 
une and  the  holy  angels,  rendering  the  lost  thanksgiving  for 
mercies  vouchsafed  to  the  drooping  soul,  yield  the  spirit  unto 
Him  who  gave  it. 

A  touch  startled  her ;  and  recalling  her  wandering  thoughts, 
she  was  conscious  of  a  thin,  bony  arm  encircling  her  waist,  that 
drew  her  from  the  door  where  she  could  gaze  in  rapture  upon 
the  beauty  of  freedom,  back  into  that  region  of  martyrdom. 

There  was  much  in  the  vivacity  of  Kate  to  enliven  and  cheer 
even  after  the  light,  little  figure  had  vanished.  But  this  time 
it  had  seemed  to  picture  too  plainly  the  contrast  between  the 
two ;  the  one  merry  and  light-hearted,  the  other  wretched  and 
even  dreading  the  return  of  the  dawn,  as  if  to-morrow  must 
forebode  greater  sorrow  ;  and  much  depressed,  she  found  it  im- 
possible to  control  her  tears  as  she  yielded  herself  to  the  penance 
of  those  dreaded  two  hours.  As  her  companion  witnessed  the 
■falling  of  the  pearly  drops,  the  palsied  fingers  grasped  her  more 
tightly,  while  with  the  other  hand  he  continued  to  wipe  them 
away,  first  with  a  red,  then  with  a  white  handkerchief,  which 
ho  seldom  failed  to  carry  in  one  hand.  The  faster  flowed  her 
tears,  the  more  torturing  became  his  caresses,  which  caused 
them  still  to  increase  ;  until  by  the  time  he  embraced  the  sink- 
ing form  for  the  last  that  evening,  exhausted  and  overwhelmed, 
she  complained  of  illness,  and  entreated  to  be  assisted  to  her 
room,  where  Judy,  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  the  suffering,  and 
anxious  to  alleviate  it  immediately,  administered  dose  after  dose, 
until  she  inadvertently  intermingled  opiates  with  her  remedies, 
and  the  miserable  Anna  fell  into  a  heavy  slumber. 

A  carriage  was  at  the  door ;  several  trunks  and  a  valise  were 
in  the  entry,  and  betokened  a  departure. 

A  tall  gentleman,  wearing  the  garb  of  a  clergyman,  descended 
the  steps;  his  face  was  pale  and  wore  an  exceedingly  anxious 
expression.  lie  had  readied  the  last  step  when  a  voice  behind 
him  said,    "■  Good-by,  Mr.  Everett !  " 

lie  turned  instantly  and  ascending  again,  extended  his  hand 
to  a  little  figure  who  stood  behind  the  rest,  with  a  flushed  cheek 
and  bewildered  countenance,  and  said  in  a  tone  of  much  earnest- 


162  a  bpdtstbr's  sTony. 

Oh,    \nna,  I  looked  for  you,  and  could  not  find  you,  and 
couldn't  bear  the  idea  of  going  away  without  seeing  you.     There's 
on  my  table, —  keep  it ;  probably  you  will  never 
again.     1 1  lod-by.     God  bless  yen." 
Fur  a  time  her  ned  blinded,  and  she  discerned  noth- 

ing that   passed   before  her.     Again  she  looked  ;  all  vestige  of 
him  was  gone. 

"  Come,  Anna,  the  milliner  wants  you  :  make  haste,  you 
know  we've  scarcely  three  weeks  more,  and  much  is  yet  to  be 
^ue." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"A  horrid  spectre  rises  to  my  sight, 
Close  by  my  side  and  plain  and  palpable. 

"It  moves  —  it  moves  —  it  rises  —  it  comes  on  met  " 

Lydia  pursued  her  way  through  the  long,  dark  galleries  ;  the 
eho  of  her   own  footsteps  often    startled  her,  and   she  would 
pause  to  consider  whether  it  were  not  wiser  to  abandon  her  pur- 
pose of  occupying  that  ill-fated  room,  return  to  her  own,  at  least 
for   that   night,  and  await   until  time   should  have   worn   away 
much  of  the  impression  of  the  frightful  tales  she  had  just  heard. 
Still,  the   promptings  of  the  courageous  spirit  within   actuated 
her  onward  ;  and  although  every  limb  trembled  with  a  violence 
she  could  not  control,  and   every  nerve   had  lost  its  power,  she 
at  last  reached  that  portion  of  the  chateau,  of  which  the  haunted 
chamber  was  a  particular  feature.     She  passed  through  a  large 
lobby,  where  the  darkness  seemed  more  intense  than  elsewhere, 
and  came  to  the  well-remembered  door.     She  paused,  and  listen- 
ed ;  all  was  silent  as  the  tomb.     Noiselessly  she  placed  the  key 
in  the    lock,  with  a  nervous   strength   drew  back  the   rusty  bolt 
—  and  the  door  opened.     She  leaned  forward  to  take  a  survey 
of  the  apartment      By  the  dim  light  of  her  flickering  lamp,  as 
it  fell  upon  the  objects  in  that  large  chamber,  the  dark  massive 
furniture   seemed    almost  as  spectres  of  themselves;  the  heavy 
tap  sstry  that  hung  from  the  windows   added  much  to  the  gloom 
ervaded   the  room;  yet  most  awe-striking  of  all  were  the 
the  walls.      Each  face  appeared  gaz- 
iii'iy   upon   her,  while  the  immense  caps  of  some  of  the 
wigof  a  judge  in  one  corner,  as  they  seemed 
to  cm  ..■   from  li    .   darkness,  appeared  so  many  appari- 


a  spixster's  story.  1G3 

tions  waiting  to  receive  her.  For  a  few  seconds  all  was  still  as 
before,  then  came  a  distinct  rumbling  noise  behind  a  wardrobe  ; 
Lydia  started,  and  in  so  doing  struck  the  door,  which  shut  with 
a  spring;  it  fell  from  her  grasp  and  closed,  and  she  realized 
that  she  was  fastened  in  the  room  where  she  stood  dreading  to 
move,  lest  some  new  terror  should  meet  her  affrighted  gaze. 

The  bell  in  the  tower  tolled ;  it  wanted  but  a  half  hour  of 
midnight,  still  there  she  stood,  the  same  monument  of  petrifac- 
tion. At  length,  by  degrees  her  presence  of  mind,  if  not  her 
courage,  returned  to  her ;  and  although  she  continued  to  look  in 
the  direction  of  the  closet  which  was  said  to  contain  that  ghost 
of  terror,  she  placed  her  light  upon  a  table  and  suffered  herself 
to  sink  into  a  chair.  A  noise  round  the  room  still  fell  on  her 
listening  ear  ;  but  as  her  courage  increased,  she  concluded  from 
the  sound  that  it  proceeded  from  the  rats  in  the  wall.  The 
clock  struck  the  hour  of  midnight ;  and  fearing  lest  her  nerves 
should  weaken  and  her  courage  fail  if  she  remained  up  as  the 
night  farther  advanced,  trusting  to  a  mightier  aid  than  her  own, 
she  resolved  to  seek  the  repose  of  that  high,  singular  looking 
stratum,  where  the  closely  drawn  curtains  seemed  intended  to 
enclose  the  sleeper  as  in  a  tomb.  Again  she  looked  towards 
the  closet  and  round  the  room  ;  then  endeavored  to  shut  out 
fear,  and  think  upon  other  subjects,  but  a  feeling  of  intense 
dread  came  over  her,  and  trembling  more  violently  than  before, 
she  knelt  down  and  offered  up  the  last  tribute  of  the  day.  Her 
fears  were  in  a  degree  lessened,  and  her  mind  more  composed  : 
actuated  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  she  wheeled  a  heavy 
cabinet  before  the  closet ;  and  having  secured  the  door,  drew 
aside  the  curtains  of  the  bed,  ever  and  anon  pausing  to  listen 
as  some  sound  broke  the  awful  stillness.  Now  the  sharp,  shrill 
screech  of  the  owl  suddenly  burst  upon  the  ear,  then  followed 
the  dead  silence,  until  the  noise  in  the  wainscot  again  disturbed 
the  quiet  of  the  night. 

She  was  about  to  lay  off  the  wrapper  she  had  thrown  round 
her,  when  the  thought  occurred  to  her,  that  the  .bed,  so  long 
unoccupied  could  not  be  aired,  and  refastening  it  upon  her,  she 
turned  to  take  a  last  survey  round  the  room.  Her  eye  fell  up- 
on a  large  volume  that  lay  upon  a  bureau ;  on  the  back,  in  gilt 
letters,  the  words  "  Holy  Bible"  were  still  legible.  She  placed 
her  hand  upon  the  book,  as  though  to  acquire  strength  of  pur- 
pose from  the  mystical  touch,  when  a  sudden  noise  as  of  a  crack 
in  the  wall  opposite  to  her,  made  her  start ;  she  stood  breathless 
and  watched  in   agony  the  direction  from  whence  it  proceeded. 


104  A    SPIXSTEtt's    STORT. 

The  bell  tolled  the  half  hour  past  midnight ;  and  immediately 
after,  the  wall  moved.  The  words  of  Job  arose  to  her  recol- 
lection, ''  In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep 
sleep  falleth  on  men,  fear  came  upon  me,  and  trembling,  which 
made  all  my  bones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my 
face  ;  the  hair  of  my  flesh  stood  up;  it  stood  .still,  but  I  could 
not  discern  the  form  thereof." 

The  time  wore  on,  still  she  stood  motionless  and  watched  ; 
her  the  sound,  nor  the  moving  of  the  wall  was  repeated, 
and  persuading  herself  that  it  was  a  vision  of  her  faucy,  she 
climbed  the  high  old-fashioned  bud,  which  arose  on  each  side  of 
her  like  a  wall,  as  she  sunk  into  the  down,  and  composing  her- 
'  r  sleep,  she  soon  fell  into  slumber.  The  clock  struck  one 
and  she  awoke.  By  the  faint  glimmering  light,  the  lamp  was 
nearly  extinct ;  and  the  dreaded  hour  had  come.  The  echo 
of  the  bell  bad  scarcely  died  away,  when  a  slight  jingling  noise 
made  her  look  up,  and  she  saw  the  curtains  move  round  her, 
until  she  was  completely  enclosed  by  them.  Shrinking  further 
below  the  coverlid,  she  had  partly  drawn  it  over  her  bead,  when 
the  lamp  was  suddenly  extinguished,  and  the  moonbeams  fell 
in  their  pile  rays  upon  the  wall.  She  closed  her  eves  again, — 
all  was  still  ;  she  heaved  a  sigh,  and  lo  !  the  coverlid  was  lifted, 
and  a  hand  placed  upon  her  face.  The  cold  stiff  fingers  pres 
heavily  upon  her  eyelids,  an  1  a  low  moan,  hollow  and  unearthly, 
resounded  through  the  chamber.  The  hand  was  uplifted,  and 
heavy  footsteps  crossed  the  floor.  She  lay  for  some  time  and 
heard  nothing ;  at  last  peeped  through  the  curtains  to  take  a 
survey  of  the  room.  The  pale  light  of  the  moon  shone  clearly 
into  the  apartment;  the  doors  were  shut,  an  I  the  cabinet  re- 
mained before  the  closet  as  she  had  placed  it.  Chiding  herself 
for  her  cowardice  in  not  springing  upon  her  enemy,  and  satisfy- 
ing herself  as  to  what  it  really  was,  she  summoned  fresh  cour- 
a g  ■.  and  nerving  herself  against  the  terror  that  nearly  overpow- 
ered her,  she  arose  and  jumped  down  to  the  floor,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  searching  the  room.  Under  the  furniture,  into  the 
wardrobes,  cabinets  and  corners,  and  behind  the  long,  heavy 
tapestry  that  hung  from  the  windows,  she  examined  with  the 
minutest  scrutiny.  But  no  apparition,  not  even  a  sound,  while 
every. door  remained  as  she  bad  left  them,  locked  and  bolted. 
Yei  the  han  I  upon  her  face  could  be  no  imagination,  it  was  pal- 
pable and  real  ;  and  how  a  spirit  could  alight  in  that  chamber, 
and  su  1  lenly  take  a  human  form,  was  beyond  comprehension, 
and  determining  to  battle  with  the  superstition  that  was  over- 
whelming her,  she  took  her  place  upon  the  bed  again,  to  look 
through  the  curtains,  and  keep  a  steady  watch. 


a  spixster's  story.  165 

The  bell  tolled  the  half  hour  ;  the  sound  had  died  away,  and 
again  followed  the  same  unbroken  silence.  The  hour  wore  on, 
yet  the  watcher  remained  undaunted  and  the  vigil  faithfully 
kept.  At  last  came  a  light  tapping  on  the  wall ;  a  large  pic- 
ture that  hung  on  that  side,  changed  its  position  ;  then  the  wall 
shook  violently,  and  the  picture  fell  with  great  noise  to  the  floor. 

The  wall  opened — and  behold  !  awful  in  its  aspect,  stooil  the 
skeleton  of  a  human  form.  It  moved  forward,  the  arms  were 
raised,  then  dropped  again,  while  the  collision  of  the  bones 
rang  a  hollow,  rattling  sound.  It  turned,  receded  and  disap- 
peared. A  sulphureous  odor  filled  the  chamber,  and  there  came 
rapid  steps  as  of  bare  feet  upon  the  floor.  Nearer  and  nearer, 
and  now  a  figure  was  before  her.  A  black  face,  sharp  features, 
and  piercing  eyes  that  glared  wildly  as  they  danced  with  an 
exalting  grin,  and  the  mouth  and  nostrils  emitting  a  blue  flame. 
A  huge  pair  of  horns  projected  from  the  top  of  the  head  ;  the 
body  was  covered  with  a  black  hairy  skin,  the  hands  and  feet 
resembling  the  paws  of  some  wild  beast,  while  a  tail  of  im- 
mense length  was  coiled  upon  the  floor.  High  in  mid-air  it 
brandished  a  heavy  forked  weapon,  whose  sharp,  red  prongs 
appeared  just  taken  from  out  a  fiery  furnace. 

It  stood  still ;  a  blue  halo  surrounded  the  frightful  figure  ; 
then  it  moved  with  an  electric  rapidity  within  what  seemed  its 
allotted  space,  performing  hideous  manoeuvres,  accompanied  by 
the  most  horrifying  grimaces.  A  voice  hollow  and  sepulchral 
burst  forth  in  loud  shrieks  and  laughter,  then  died  away,  until 
only  a  low  moan  broke  the  stillness  of  the  hour. 

It  came  forward,  until  it  was  fully  within  the  chamber,  and 
stood  still,  as  though  to  take  a  survey  of  the  room.  Again  it 
moved  and  came  nearer,  when  it  was  too  evident  that  its  course 
was  towards  the  bed. 

There  was  but  a  second  to  decide.  Still  undaunted  and  reso- 
lute, LyJia  nerved  herself  for  the  combat,  and  sprung  to  the 
floor,  eyed  the  fierce  adversary  with  a  stern  and  unflinching 
glance,  and  with  one  arm  raised  towards  it,  stood  ready  for  the 
struggle.  She  endeavored  to  speak  to  tell  the  monster  before 
her  that  she  feared  it  not  ;  but  although  her  lips  moved,  all 
utterance  failed,  and  unable  to  call  for  assistance  she  felt  her- 
self wholly  within  the  power  of  the  enemy,  as  strong  arms  en- 
circled her  waist,  while  the  hot  breath  came  as  fire  upon  her 
brow,  from  which  the  cold  drops  of  sweat  were  fast  falling. 
Long  and  valiantly  she  struggled,  until  her  strength  was  fully 
expended,  and  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  she  struck  the  head  of 
her  antagonist,  and  as  it  fell  back,  a  mask,  cap  and  horns,  drop- 


166  a  spinster's  story. 

perl  to  the  floor.  The  horrifying  figure  vanished,  leaving  tlioso 
as  trophies  with  the  triumphant    Lydia  :  the  will  closed  again, 

and  all  was  quiet  as  though  nothing  had  happened.  Weary 
and  exhausted,  Bhe  persuaded  herself  that  the  visitations  to  this 
haunted  chamber  were  now  at  an  end,  and  fell  into  a  sound 
slumber. 

The  next  morning,  as  they  seated  themselves  at  the  breakfast 
table,  it  was  found  Lydia's  seat  was  the  only  one  vacant.  Car- 
lotta  repaired  to  her  room,  but  no  Lydia  was  there  ;  inquiries 
were  made,  yet  no  one  had  heard  or  seen  anything  of  her.  Her- 
mann looked  up  surprised  at  the  intelligence,  and  instantly  left 
the  room.  With  rapid  steps  he  proceeded  to  the  haunted  cham- 
ber, and  knocked  ;  but  no  answer.  He  remained  long  in  sus- 
pense, hoping  to  hear  her  stirring  ;  all  was  quiet  within,  and  too 
anxious  to  await  longer,  he  unceremoniously  entered  the  room. 
The  curtains  were  closely  drawn  round  the  bed,  he  approached 
and  listened  for  the  breathing  of  the  sleeper;  but  all  was  the 
stillness  of  death.  He  feared  to  part  the  curtains,  lest  a  scene 
too  awful  to  look  upon  should  meet  his  gaze.  He  paused  to 
contemplate  whether  a  corpse  lay  enclosed  there,  or  life  in  all 
the  silence  of  melancholy  insanity  ;  yet,  unwilling  to  behold  the 
wreck  of  the  beautiful  his  own  wickedness  had  wrought,  he  hasti- 
ly left  the  chamber  and  concluded  to  know  nothing  of  the  lost  girl, 
no  matter  what  the  consequences  might  be.  Assuming  a  care- 
less air,  he  re-entered  the  breakfast  room,  and  soon  appeared  to 
chat  freely  with  the  rest,  and  invited  Charles  to  go  with  him  for 
the  purpose  of  seeing  the  kennel,  which  he  declared  was  one  of 
the  finest  in  Europe. 

The  meal  was  just  over,  when  Lydia  entered.  One  gazed 
upon  her  in  mute  astonishment,  and  that  was  Hermann.  Her 
fair  face  was  animated  with  the  glow  of  health  and  exercise,  the 
glossy  tresses  were  thrown  back,  and  the  primroses  and  lilies 
of  the  valley  which  filled  the  hat  she  carried  in  her  hand,  com- 
pleted the  rural  beauty  of  the  picture. 

Sir  Charles  looked  intently  upon  her,  then  calling  her  towards 
him,  said,  in  a  tone,  which  for  him  was  exceedingly  mild  and 
pleasant,  "  Lydia,  you  are  a  good  girl,  sit  here  by  me,  I'll 
keep  you  company  while  you  breakfast." 

He  placed  his  hand  upon  hers,  and  asked  if  he  might  present 
her  flowers  to  the  lady  he  esteemed  most,  and  as  she  placed 
them  before  him,  he  rang  for  some  twine,  and  having  formed  a 
wreath  to  the  admiration  of  all  present,  laid  it  down  upon  the 
table,  and  sat  back  in  his  chair,  to  take  a  scrutinizing  survey 
of  every  lady  before  him.  Fritzine  sat  erect,  as  though  quite 
prepared  for  the  honor  about  to  be  conferred  upon  her. 


A    SPINSTEU'S    STORY.  167 

Sir  Charles,  with  a  great  effort,  arose,  and  standing  before 
them,  took  the  wreath,  which  was  artistically  and   beautifully 

made,  and  placed  it  upon  the  head  of  the  blushing  Lydia. 

Miss   Eliza  and   Fritzine   exchanged   significant  glances,  and 
the  latter,  with  a  haughty   and   piquant  air,  rose  and   lei 
room.     The   rest  soon  followed,  and  Lydia  was  left  alone  with 
her  grandfather. 

She  told  him  of  her  admiration  of  La  Belle,  and  was  not  long 
in  fully  convincing  him  that  her  love  for  all  that  was  beautiful 
in  nature  and  art  was  pure  and  unsophistical.  By  degrees  his 
cold  reserve  disappeared,  and  they  chatted  familiarly  together. 
Lydia  told  him  of  their  mode  of  living  in  Philadelphia  ;  of  the 
churches,  societies,  laws,  amusements,  &e.,  in  the  large  cities  of 
America;  he  admired  the  enterprise  of  the  people,  and  declared 
but  for  his  gouty  leg  he  would  pass  the  following  summer  upon 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Atlantic.  And  lastly,  Lydia  spoke  of 
her  father,  of  his  industry,  and  toil  during  her  early  infancy,  his 
conscientious  dealing,  his  unostentatious  and  self-denying  chari- 
ty; his  love  for  the  home  of  his  childhood,  and  his  loyalty  for 
the  land  of  his  birth  ;  and  lastly,  his  piety,  casting  all  philan- 
thropy aside  as  nothing  worth,  unless  prompted  by  the  love  of 
the  Father  of  all,  in  doing  unto  others  as  we  would  they  should 
do  unto  us. 

"  Here,  this  will  not  do,1'  said  he,  making  an  effort  to  rise; 
"  I  see  you  would  soon  get  the  better  of  me,  and  that  is  some- 
thing I  never  allowed  petticoats  to  do  yet  ;  no  indeed,  not  when 
I  was  young,  and  I  should  be  a  fool  to  let  a  young  girl  like  you, 
gain  a  victory  over  me  now  ;  why,  I  should  fancy  myself  living 
in  feudal  times,  when  knights  were  obliged  to  risk  head  and 
crop  in  the  cause  of  chivalry.  But  no  such  chivalry  for  me  ;  I 
say  let  women  take  care  of  themselves,  and  we  can  do  the  same. 
I'm  sure  a  bachelor's  life  must  be  very  happy,  I  wonder  I 
never  thought  of  it  before  it  was  too  late,  for  they've  only  them- 
selves to  please." 

'•  True,  sir,  but  they  often  find  it  very  difficult  to  do  that." 

"  That  may  bo,  but  they've  only  themselves  to  blame,  that 
must  be  one  comfort." 

"  What,  grandpa  ?  would  it  be  a  pleasure  to  you  to  be  obliged 
to  reproach  yourself  rather  than  vent  your  anger  upon  a  second 
person  ?  " 

"  Leave  me,  child,  or  you'll  make  me  break  the  great  res- 
olution of  my  life  —  never  to  let  womankind  influence  one 
thought  or  action.     Go  instantly." 

Lydia  obeyed ;  going  in  search  of  her  mother  and  sister,  a 


166 


A    SriN'STERS    STORY. 


voice  called  to  her  as  she  was  passing  the  corridor,  and  turning, 
Bhe  encountered  1  lermann. 

"  Oli,  Miss  Villiers,  how  did  you  rest  last  night?  I  hope  you 
were  not  disturbed  by  those  spirits  that  are  said  to  haunt  that 
ohamber." 

"  I  never  slept  more  soundly,"  replied  Lydia,  bowing  in  a 
dignified  manner,  "  and  allow  me  to  take  this  opportunity  for 
apologizing  to  his  satanic  majesty  for  depriving  him  of  part  of 
his  armor  which  became  him  so  admirably." 

The  countenance  of  Hermann  changed,  and  he  looked  abashed  ; 
then  walking  up  to  her  and  extending  his  hand,  which  she  re- 
fused to  take,  he  exclaimed,  as  the  color  mounted  to  his  tem- 
pi"-,— 

'•  Miss  Lydia,  you  are  a  heroic  girl,  in  fact  I  know  no  one  so 
truly  courageous,  and  never  would  have  given  any  girl  credit 
for  such  strength  of  purpose.  Indeed,  as  I  thought  afterwards, 
had  I  been  in  your  place  it  would  have  turned  my  brain  ;  and 
I  assure  you  I  was  rejoiced  beyond  measure,  when  you  entered 
this  morning,  the  same  Lydia  as  yesterday  ;  for  I  really  expect- 
ed to  see  a  dishevelled  maniac  rush  towards  me." 

"  What !  could  you  be  so  cruel  as  to  allow  me  to  run  the  risk 
of  losing  my  reason  ?  And  had  that  awful  calamity  befallen 
me,  would  you  have  considered  it  only  just  retribution  for  hav- 
ing boasted  of  my  courage  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  indeed,  I  am  not  quite  so  bad  as  you  wish  to  infer ; 
truly,  I  never  thought  of  all  that,  I  only  wanted  to  convince 
you  that  when  put  to  the  test,  you  would  be  as  superstitious  as 
any  one.  But  you  thwarted  me,  I  will  confess,  and  I'll  tell 
you,  that  the  skeleton  you  saw  works  upon  wires.  I  believe  it 
once  belonged  to  one  of  your  great  uncles,  who  was  fond  of 
anatomy  ;  and  that  disguise  I  wore  was  made  for  a  masquerade." 

*'  I  have  imagined  all  that,  but  the  wall  puzzled  me. 

"  Oh,  do  come  with  me,  and  I'll  explain  how  that  is  ;  it  really 
is  a  piece  of  mechanism  worth  seeing.  Do  come  and  look  ;  on 
the  other  side,  there  is  a  secret  chamber  that  Sir  Charles  never 
knew  existed  until  about  a  year  ago.  I  suppose  it  was  built 
for  the  purpose  of  concealment,  should  the  case  ever  require  it. 
I  think  it  was  a  servant  wh)  discovered  it  one  day,  quite  by  ac- 
cident, and  by  some  very  singular  process  the  wall  opens ;  como 
and  see." 

"  Not  now,  I  thank  you ;  "  and  Lydia  turned  away. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Villiers,  you  can  be  indifferent  to  me  now,  but 
let  me  tell  you,  young  lady,  that  when  you  find  yourself  a  poor, 
penniless  girl,  obliged  to  teach  all  day  long  for  a  mere  pittance, 


A    SriXSTER's    STORY.  169 

and  sec  me  here  lord  of  all  T  survey,  indeed  you  will  be  glad 
enough  to  hear  mc  tell  you  I  like  you,  for,  fine  as  you  may  be 
to  look  at.  precious  Pew  fellows  would  be  content,  with  that  alone  ; 
besides,  there  are  plenty  such  girls  for  sale  every  day,  and  it 
cists  very  little  trouble  to  catch  tliem,  because  their  poverty 
soon  teaches  them,  '  beggars  shouldn't  be  choosers.'  ' 

Lydia  paused  and  turned,  and  the  full  gaze  of  the  expressive 
dark  eyes  fell  upon  him.  The  look  was  full  of  pity,  as  it  was 
of  contempt  ;  she  said  nothing,  but  turned  away  again,  and 
pissed  rapidly  from  his  sight,  leaving  him  standing  looking  after 
her. 

The  week  was  drawing  to  a  close,  when  late  one  evening  Miss 
Eliza  informed  the  widow  that  Sir  Charles  desired  her  presence 
in  the  library.  On  entering,  she  found,  him  writing  at  a  table 
covered  with  what  appeared  old  manuscripts  and  journals.  He 
raised  his  eyes  as  she  closed  the  door,  put  his  quill  behind  his 
oar,  and  having  settled  himself  comfortably  back  in  his  chair, 
with  a  motion  oT  his  head,  directed  her  to  a  seat  opposite  him. 
For  some  time  he  said  nothing,  and  seemed  lost  in  thought  ;  at 
last,  the  clenched  hand  fell  with  a  violence  upon  the  oak  table, 
an  evidence  that  his  cogitations  had  reached  some  most  decisive 
conclusion,  and  was  about  to  set  it  forth  in  his  own  concise  form 
of  colloquy. 

"  Well  Lydia,  it  is  decided,  and  your  daughter's  fortune  is 
secured. 

The  widow  glanced  at  him  with  an  expression  of  painful  em- 
barrassment, and  as  if  reading  an  inquiry  in  her  countenance, 
he  added, — 

"  I  have  spoken  to  Hermann,  and  to  my  surprise  find  he  is 
exceedingly  anxious  to  discard  this  Fritzine,  and  eager  to  have 
matters  settled  as  soon  as  possible.  He  admires  your  child,  — I 
didn't  ask  him  why,  T  suppose  her  good  looks  have  attracted 
him.  I  was  once  fascinated  in  the  same  way  myself,  yet  never 
but  once,  oh,  no  !  I  prefer  being  a  widower  to  that  ;  you  women 
are  never  satisfied  unless  you  can  control  and  govern  all  within 
your  reach  ;  in  truth,  what  with  a  wife  and  daughters,  a  poor 
fellow  scarcely  knows  whether  his  name  is  his  own.  However, 
these  young  striplings  wont  believe  this,  so  they  must  find  it 
out  for  themselves.  Now  what  I  want  to  say,  is  this.  This 
estate  of  La  Belle  I  have  bequeathed  to  Hermann ;  there  is 
room  enough  here,  you  know,  for  all  of  you,  and  I  have  agreed 
that  if  your  Lydia  accepts  this  offer,  you  are  to  remain  here, 
and  I  will  settle  a  small  sum  upon  you  and  those  other  two  be- 
longing to  you.     There,  now  you  have  all  you  want,  I  can  live 


170  a  spinstee's   stoey. 

untormented  for  a  little  longer.  But  what  did  the  young  Ly- 
dia  Bay '.'  " 

"  Oli,  Bather !  !  could  not  mention  it  to  my  child  ;  for  worlds 
T  would  not  have  ber  know  that  the  power  of  b  snefitting  as  lay 
thus  in  herself;  it  would  make  her  too  wretched.  Oh,  no! 
Let  me  have  the  loan,  and  we  will  leave  to-morrow,  to  trouble 
you  ii"  more," 

"  Win: '.'  Are  my  proposals  to  be  defied  in  this  way?  No  ! 
You  shall  have  no  loan.      Begone  !  " 

"  Oh,  have  a  little  mercy  !  We  have  not  sufficient  to  enable 
us  to  live  one  week.  Nay,  scarce  enough  to  carry  us  back  to 
Berlin." 

Upon  her  knee,  at  the  feet  of  the  hard-hearted  man,  the  widow 
Bought  for  pity,  but  her  tears  and  entreaties  were  vain.  At 
length  she  anise,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  he  ex- 
claimed, "  wait  a  moment,  woman,  I've  not  done  with  you  vet." 

He  rang  for  Hermann,  and  ordered  him  to  sit  down  and  draw 
up  an  agreement  in  regard  to  a  loan  for  the  widow.  Hermann 
looked  inquiringly  at  both,  but  immediately  proceeded  to  obey. 
It  was  finished  ;  and  expressing  her  sincere  thanks  for  the  favor, 
she  hade  Sir  Charles  good-night,  and  with  a  mind  relieved  of  a 
weighty  load,  left  the  library. 

Early  the  next  day  the  widow  and  her  children  took  their 
leave  of  the  beautiful  La  Belle.  Sir  Charles  remained  cold 
and  rigid,  yet  betook  the  hand  of  each  as  he  said  good-by ; 
Miss  Eliza  hoped  they  would  succeed  in  their  undertaking,  and 
should  always  be  extremely  happy  to  hear  they  were  doing  well. 

The  distance  to  Berlin  seemed  longer,  and  the  journey  more 
tedious  than  previously,  for  disappointment  had  set  her  weight 
upon  the  spirits  ;  and  as  the  lamplight  occasionally  fell  upon  the 
countenances,  there  was  sealed  the  deep  impress  of  a  hope 
crushed  forever.  At  last  they  passed  through  Halle  gate  into 
the  .streets  of  the  capital,  and  repaired  to  the  hotel,  where  they 
found  several  travellers  had  arrived  from  Bremen.  Charles 
immediately  thought  of  Beatrice,  but  no  such  name  was  upon 
the  books,  and  vain  were  the  earnest  inquiries  ;  no  tidings  what- 
ever of  the  missing  girl. 

They  had  retired  for  the  night,  but  Charles  found  it  impossi- 
ble to  sleep,  for  the  memory  of  Beatrice  still  haunted  him.  He 
arose  from  his  couch,  threw  his  cloak  around  him,  and  soon 
found  himself  in  the  streets  of  the  city.  About  midnight,  he 
returned  to  his  room  at  the  hotel  ;  and  believing  he  should  nev- 
er hear  of  her  again,  yielded  to  the  despondency  that,  was  fast 
gathering  over  him.     The  dawn  of  day  found  him  but  little  re- 


a  spinster's  story.  171 

freshed,  yet  he  arose  with  a  resolution  to  devote  himself  wholly 
to  the  comfort  of  his  mother  and  sisters,  while  he  kept  fhr.se 
thoughts  that  seemed  nearest  and  dearest,  exclusively  to  himself. 

Potzdam,  the  Prussian  Versailles,  is  situated  on  the  Havel, 
about  one  hour's  journey  from  Berlin.  Here  the  four  royal 
residences,  together  with  the  private  houses  which  are  copies 
from  the  most  celebrated  edifices,  distinguish  it  for  the  splendor 
of  its  architecture;  although  the  palace  of  Sans  Souci  is  to  my 
recollection  the  most  interesting.  It  was  built  by  Frederick 
the  Great,  about  1746.  At  the  extremity  of  the  high  terrace 
on  which  it  stands,  are  the  graves  of  Frederick's  favorite  dogs, 
and  among  them  was  also  buried  the  horse  that  carried  him 
through  many  battles:  according  to  his  will,  it  was  his  wish  to 
be  interred  with  them,  but  a  request  with  which  his  friends  did 
not  comply.  Entering  the  palace,  you  are  shown  to  the  room 
where  he  breathed  his  last.  There  stands  the  clock  he  always 
wound  up  with  Ins  own  hand,  and  which  being  forgotten  at  last, 
stopped  at  the  moment  of  his  death,  and  still  points  to  the  hour 
of  his  decease  —  twenty  minutes  past  two.  In  the  garden  of 
Sans  Souci,  there  is  a  statue  of  the  beautiful  Queen  Louisa  ;  it 
was  the  result  of  fifteen  years'  study  on  the  part  of  the  great 
sculptor,  Rauch,  and  represents  her  asleep.  It  is  most  touching 
anil  beautiful)  yet,  although  it  is  said  to  be  superior  to  any  other, 
and  doubtless  is  so,  still,  there  is  a  monument  of  this  unfortu- 
nate princess  at  Charlottenburg,  a  small  village  on  the  Spree, 
that  seemed  to  me  far  more  imposing ;  for  it  stands  in  a  shady 
and  retired  part  of  the  garden,  where  she  was  buried.  The 
figure  of  the  queen  reposes  on  a  marble  sarcophagus,  it  is  a 
form  and  face  of  the  most  exquisite  beauty,  and  a  perfect  re- 
semblance, while  the  expression  is  not  that  of  death,  but  repose. 
The  hands  are  folded  over  the  breast,  the  countenance  and  part 
of  the  neck  are  bare,  while  the  rest  is  shrouded  in  finely- wrought 
drapery.  No  pompous  catalogue  of  titles,  or  eulogy  of  her  vir- 
tues are  there  ;  the  Prussian  eagle  alone,  at  the  foot  of  the  sar- 
cophagus, tells  she  belongs  to  the  house  of  Hohenzollern.  There 
are  the  seven  withered  garlands  still  hanging  over  her, —  the  first 

o  no 

offerings  of  her  children  at  the  grave  of  their  mother. 

But  as  I  am  not  to  write  of  myself,  neither  should  I  recount 
here  the  particulars  of  my  travels.  I  had  forgotten  that  a  small 
gothic  residence  in  one  of  the  terraces  of  Potzdam  must  occupy 
my  attention. 

The  street  in  which  it  stood  wore  a  retired  aspect,  while  a 
peaceful  serenity  seemed  to  pervade   every  dwelling.     It  was 


172  a  srrxsTER's  story. 

detached  from  the  rest,  and  the  antique  style  of  its  architecture, 
together  with  the  sweet  simplicity  that  was  manifested  in  the 
garden  which  surrounded  it,  rendered  tbe  whole  peculiarly  at- 
tractive. 

The  day  was  on  the  decline:  the  refulgence  of  a  glorious 
si  ha  I  stolen  through  the  casement  an  I  was  falling  in  guld- 
en tints  upon  a  cozy  little  parlor,  where  a  young  girl  sat  alone, 
apparently  in  a  I  •  sp  r  sverio.  The  duties  of  the  day  were  over, 
an  I  as  if  g]  i  I  of  the  reprieve,  she  h  id  sought  to  contemplate  in 
seclusion.  Not  that  her  occupation  had  been  arduous  or  irk- 
some, far  from  it  ;  but  she  was  a  novice  at  teaching,  and  the 
fear  lest  her  inexperience  should  incapacitate  her  for  the  work, 
tim  ss  trouble  I  her.  Set,  thoughtful  as  was  the  expression, 
no  sadness  was  there  ;  and  to  all  who  knew  her,  there  shone 
forth  in  that  sweet  face,  a  ray  from  the  soul  within,  that  told  tbe 
beautiful  spirit  of  contentment,  unalloyed  by  the  baubles  of  am- 
bition, reigned  there  in  the  full  essence  of  its  purity. 

The  dour  opened,  and  a  youth  entered.  The  dust  that  rested 
on  the  black  suit,  the  slow  steps,  bended  carriage  and  tired  at- 
titude,  spoke  of  much  travel.  He  closed  the  door,  and  unaware 
of  her  presence,  crossed  the  room,  and  threw  himself  into  a 
chair.  She  gazed  intently  upon  him  as  if  to  read  in  his  mien 
what  was  passing  within. 

"Oh  Lydia,  pardon  me.  And  you  are  here  .alone."'  He 
was  instantly  at  her  side,  and  drawing  her  towards  him  as  he 
watched  attentively  the  uplifted  countenance,  continued,  "Ah, 
Lyddie  love,  I  begin  to  know  too  well  what  that  smile  means. 
You  would  teach  me  to  hope  even  when  you  cannot  yourself.  And 
so  the  school  has  not  increased  as  you  had  anticipated?  "  She 
made  no  answer,  but  placed  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
brushed  aside  the  clustering  locks  that  fell  over  his  brow. 

"  Now  to  variegate  our  melancholy,  let  me  give  you  an  ac- 
count of  my  wanderings  during  these  three  days  that  I  have 
been  absent  from  you.  First,  let  me  tell  you,  that  when  I  left 
here  for  Berlin,  my  castle  building  elevated  me  to  some  prom- 
inent position  in  one  of  the  mercantile  houses  of  that  city,  and 
in  my  imagination,  I  had  suddenly  placed  my  mother  and  sis- 
ters not  only  independent  of  relatives  and  friends,  but  in  afflu- 
ence ;  and  —  " 

"  But  Charles,  your  hands  !     "What  has  been  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you.  Well,  I  had  not  proceeded  far  on  my  explor- 
ing expedition,  before  I  was  made  to  understand  that  young  fel- 
lows to  write,  keep  accounts,  etc.,  were- always  to  be  had  by  the 
shoal,  and  methought  the  best  and  only  resource  was  to  turn  my 


a  spi.vstek's  story.  173 

attention  in  another  direction.  Accordingly,  after  much  re- 
search, I  entered  yesterday  a  manufactory,  and  applied  for  a 
vacancy.  '  Who  are  yon  ?  '  inquired  the  m  inufacturer.  I  hand- 
ed them  my  card.  '  Do  you  call  yourself  a  gentleman?'  I 
answered  that  1  certainly  aspired  to  such  an  appellation,  to  which 
he  rejoined,  '  I  could  tell  that  by  your  hands,  and  I'll  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you,  for  I  want  people  who  can  work.'  I 
said  no  more,  but  came  oat,  and  sat  down  upon  the  pavement 
to  rest.  I  looked  at  my  hands,  and  certainly  they  did  not  re- 
semble those  1  hid  seen  in  the  manufactory.  So  half  foolishly, 
half  indifferently,  I  took  up  some  stones  that  lay  near  me,  and 
in  rubbing  my  hands  the  flint  cut  the  skin. —  that  was  all." 

"  O'.i,  Charles  !  "  An  I  Ly  lia  attempts  I  to  hold  the  scarred 
finders  in  her  own,  but  he  drew  them  away,  and  again  folding 
his  arms  round  her,  as  he  kissed  her  cheek,  led  her  from  the 
parlor  to  a  little  room  above,  where  their  mother  and  Lottie  were 
busily  occupied  in  making  wax  flowers. 

It  was  now  a  month  since  they  left  La  Belle.  With  the 
promise  of  several  pupils  as  boarders,  they  had  furnished  the 
house  they  now  occupied,  for  the  receptacle  ;  but  when  the  prep- 
arations were  completed,  none  of  the  young  ladies  were '  heard 
of.  Stili  they  trusted,  and  hoped  for  future  success,  and  al- 
though the  widow  saw  this  evening  as  the  two  entered,  that 
Charles  had  been  unsuccessful,  yet  she  smiled  at  his  fears,  as  Ly- 
dia  cheered  him  with  her  vivacity,  and  Carlotta  endeavored  to  en- 
liven him  with  her  song  ;  and  when  Lydia  left  the  room  to  per- 
form a  little  duty  that  always  devolved  uprtn  her  at  this  hour, 
she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  the  despair  so  plainly  vis- 
ible on  the  countenance  of  the  beloved  Charles,  was  by  degrees 
disappearing. 

She  remained  with  their  few  little  pupils  uutil  sleep  closed 
the  weary  little  eyelids,  and  the  hymns  she  was  repeating  were 
no  longer  heard;  then  bending  over  the  sleepers,  kissed  away 
the  pearly  tears  that  rested  upon  the  cheeks  of  those  little  crea- 
tures still  haunted  by  the  recollection  of  home,  and  assuring 
herself  that  all  were  asleep,  extinguished  the  light,  and  re-entered 
the  little  sitting  room. 

The  evening  was  passing  pleasantly,  when  there  came  a  loud 
ring  at  the  gate.  A  traveller  dismounted,  and  with  hurried 
steps,  regardless  of  the  little  parterre  tint  hi  I  bean  so  tastefully 
laid  out,  leached  th  i  door,  an  I  in  paired  for  Mrs  Villiers.  The 
widow  descended  to  the  parlor,  while  Charles,  who  had  peeped 
over  the  baluster,  threw  his  arms  passionately  round  Lydia  and 
exclaimed, — 


174  a  spinster's  story. 

"  Hermann  !     Now  for  some  news!  " 

So  ';i  after  tbey  beard  the  parlor  iloor  open,  and  loud  angry 
tones  rose  on  tin'  .-till  air;  then  the  house  door  was  shut  with  a 
mce,  the   traveller  flew  to   his  steed,  and  putting  spurs  to 
the  noble  animal,  was  shortly  nut  of  sight. 

"  Well,  Lydia,"  said  the  widow  as  she  joined  them,  "I've 
been  answering  for  you,  and  refused  an  offer  in  regard  to  your 
becoming  the  future  mistress  of  La  Belle." 

'•  And,  my  dear  Lydia,  that  means  you  can  have  the  honor  of  ' 
being  bride  elect  to  his  excel lency,  the  noble  Hermann.     How 
grieved   you  must  be  to  know  your   mother  has   refused.     My 
heart  aches  when  I  think  of  your  anguish.1' 

"  Hush,  Charles  !  "  said  Lydia,  as  she  laughed  at  the  mock 
gravity  his  countenance  assumed.  "  I  wish  to  bear  whether  he 
said  anything  of  grandfather." 

"No;"  returned  Mrs.  Villiers,  "as  soon  as  I  learned  the 
object  of  his  visit,  I  asked  him  if  be  were  not  engaged  to  Fritz- 
ine,  to  which  he  replied  that  Fritzine  was  nobody,  and  engage- 
ments nothing.  Then  finding  me  firm  in  my  decision,  he  arose 
in  a  passion,  and  left  the  bouse." 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  Sabbath  ;  the  doors  of  the  English 
church  were  open,  and  the  bells  chimed  an  invitation  to  enter 
the  sanctuary,  and  employ  the  last  moments  of  the  day  in  the 
service  of  Jehovah.  This  evening  it  was  well  attended,  while 
among  those  who  passed  up  the  aisles,  there  came  a  family  in 
deep  mourning,  known  to  very  lew,  who  recognized  them  as  the 
Villiers  from  Philadelphia. 

There  is  often  in  evening  service  much  that  is  imposing. 
The  light  of  the  glorious  sun  with  its  enlivening  influences  has 
departed  ;  we  look  up,  and  the  day  is  gone  ;  the  shades  of  night 
are  encompassing  us,  it  is  a  time  to  pause  and  meditate,  to  leave 
awhile  the  pursuits  of  time,  and  ponder  upon  the  things  of  eter- 
nity, and  ask  ourselves  how  we  rank  in  that  register  above, 
wherein  is  recorded  not  only  the  words  and  actions,  but  also 
the  innermost  thoughts  of  the  heart.  The  was  tapers  shed 
their  subdued  light  from  the  altar,  as  the  solemn  peals  of  the 
org  in  stole  over  the  worshippers  A  door  in  one  of  the  arches 
of  the  architecture  opened,  and  two  clergymen  entered  the 
church.  Lydia's  book  fell  to  the  floor  as  she  watched  the  one 
who  ascended,  to  the  chancel.  She  bent  forward,  and  gazed 
intently  at  that  form  as  it  knelt  at  the  altar.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  gait  and  attitude  strikingly  familiar  to  her.  The 
figure  arose,  and  as  it  turued  to  a  seat,  she  recognized  none  other 
than  Mr.  Everett. 


•  a  spinster's  STouy.  175 

The  last  strains  of  the  psalm  had  died  away,  and  the  stranger 
from  Philadelphia  entered  the  pulpit.  The  text  was  from  that 
portion  of  Scripture  where  St.  .John  tells  us  of  the  agony  of  the 
Saviour  in  the  Garden  of  Grethsemane,  wherein  are  the  words 
'•  Father,  all  things  are  possible  unto  thee,  take  away  this  cup 
from  me  ;  nevertheless  not  what  I  will,  but  what  thou  wilt." 

The  preliminary  remarks  of  the  sermon  were  relative  to  the 
Saviour's  life  upon  earth.  The  trials  and  temptations,  the  suf- 
ferings and  sorrows  that  constituted  His  sojourn  among  men, 
and  how,  when  this  earthly  pilgrimage  was  ended,  He  bore  the 
burden  of  the  cross,  and  descended  to  the  confines  of  the  sep- 
ulchre, that  he  might  burst  the  bonds  of  death,  and  open  unto 
us  the  gates  of  everlasting  life;  and  having  thus  paid  the  great 
price  of  our  ransom,  and  fulfilled  every  tittle  of  the  law,  he  has 
purchased  for  us  a  full,  complete,  and  free  salvation.  Animat- 
ed by  the  earnestness  with  which  he  addressed  them,  the  elo- 
quence of  the  young  clergyman,  as  he  exhorted  all  to  study  the 
truths  of  the  Gospel,  was  deeply  impressive.  After  dwelling 
upon  the  enormity  of  the  sins  daily  committed  against  divine 
love,  lie  strove  to  remove  every  barrier  in  the  way  of  the  peni- 
tent's approach  to  the  Mercy  Seat;  ''No  argument,"  said  he, 
"  growing  out  of  our  deep  unworthiness  can  interpose  the  prog- 
ress  of  the  soul  towards  its  Maker.  When  we  once  enter  into 
His  presence,  be  it  as  a  penitent  supplicating  pardon,  a  mourner 
unveiling  sorrow,  the  needy  asking  grace,  or  the  recipient  of 
mercy  offering  the  sacrifice  of  praise,  we  stand  upon  the  basis 
of  an  atonement  which  meets  our  ease,  no  matter  what  may  be 
its  own  peculiar  form,  and  need  never  fear  a  cool  reception. 

"  We  draw  near  by  the  way  of  His  cross.  We  penetrate  into 
His  heart  through  His  pierced  side.  His  wounds  are  our  door 
of  hope.  We  .plead  His  own  merits,  bathe  in  his  own  blood, 
enfold  us  in  His  own  righteousness,  and  He  will  not  deny  —  will 
not  reject  us.  And  once  assured  of  this  statement,  justified  and 
borne  out  by  every  sentence  of  revealed  truth,  who  shall  dare 
come  between  the  soul  and  Christ  V  What  echoes  of  the  'law's 
loud  thunder,'  what  lightning  gleams  of  justice,  what  profound 
sense  of  sinfulness,  what  aggravated  departures  shall  presume 
to  interdict  your  approach  to  the  Saviour  of  all !  Once  led  by 
the  eye  of  faith  to  the  cross  of  Calvary,  and  every  foe  shall  pale 
and  shrink  away.  No  sin,  no  curse,  no  Satan  can  stand  beneath 
the  sacred,  solemn  shadow  of  that  cross  where,  impaled,  suffer- 
ing, dying,  hung  the  incarnate  God.  Sooner,  at  the  bidding 
of  a  mortal,  shall  the  laws  of  nature  stand  still,  and  this  universe 
cease  to  be  ;  sooner  shall    Christ   vacate   His  throne  of  glory, 


176  A    sriXSTERS    STORY. 

and  God  resign  the  government  of  all  worlds,  and  of  all  beings, 
than  shall  a  poor,  penitent,  bumble,  supplicating  soul  enter  into 
the  presence  of  Jesus  pleading  His  own  infinite  merits  and  most 
precious  blood,  be  chilled  by  coldness,  be  awed  by  a  frown, 
<>r  be  rejected  with  disdain.  For  He  has  paid  all  the  debt,  an- 
nihilated all  our  innumerable  sins,  exhausted  every  particle  of 
the  tremendous  curs  \  and  is  now  set  down  at  the  right  hand 
of  God  to  secure  by  His  intercession,  and  to  administer  by  His 
government,  the  untold  blessings  purchased  by  His  blood.  We 
have  hut  to  approach,  and  with  the  gentlest  pressure  of  faith, 
touch  the  spring  of  His  love,  and  every  door  flies  open  to  wel- 
come us.  And  what  are  the  attractions  to  draw  us  thither? 
When  the  eye  of  king  Ahasuerus  lighted  upon  Esther,  robed 
and  jeweled  with  royal  splendor,  ber  person  found  grace  in  his 
sight,  and  he  bade  her  approach.  With  a  complacency  and  de- 
light infinitely  transcending  this,  does  the  Saviour  contemplate 
the  believer,  as  he  enters  into  the  Divine  presence,  comely  with 
His  comeliness,  pat  upon  Him  ;  extending  the  symbol  of  wel- 
come, He  invites  your  approach  ;  His  heart,  responsive  to  your 
petition,  is  prepared,  and  His  power,  commensurate  with  your 
case,  is  '  able  tj  do  exceeding  abundantly  above  all  that  we  ask 
or  think  ! '  Does  glory  charm  us.  does  beauty  attract  us,  does 
love  win  us,  does  gentleness  subdue  us,  does  sympathy  soothe 
us,  does  faithfulness  inspire  confidence".'  all  this  do  we  find  in 
Him  who  is  altogether  lovely,  and  if  our  minds  can  appreciate 
tin;  grand,  and  our  hearts  are  sensible  of  the  tender  ;  if  they  can 
feel  the  power  of  that  which  is  superlatively  great  and  exqui- 
sitely lovely,  then  we  shall  need  no  persuasion  to  arise,  and  going 
to  the  foot  of  the  cross,  pour  out  every  emotion  of  the  soul, 
every  circumstance  of  our  history.  There  needs  a  closer  alli- 
ance of  the  soul  and  the  Saviour.  Deem  not  the  small  events 
of  life  too  trivial  for  His  ear  :  for  His  love,  His  sympathy,  His 
compassion,  are  all  human  ;  so  there  is  not  a  petition  with  which 
we  approach,  growing  out  of  our  suffering  humanity,  that  chal- 
lenges not  a  hearing,  that  awakens  not  a  response  ;  and  remem- 
ber, we  are  holding  audience  with  Him  who,  when  He  sojourned 
upon  earth,  was  poor,  houseless,  and  unbefriended  ;  who  sub- 
1  on  charity,  and  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head.  What- 
ever may  be  the  trials  and  temptations,  the  sorrows  and  the  suf- 
ferings of  this  mortal  life,  let  us  trust  in  that  wisdom  which 
cannot  err,  and  in  that  love  which  cannot  fail,  knowing  that  we 
prefer  no  request,  breathe  into  His  ear  no  sorrow,  unveil  to  His 
eye  no  infirmity,  with  which,  in  all  its  most  minute  detail,  He 
was  not  already   infinitely   belter  acquainted  than  we  are  ;  for 


a  spinster's  story.  177 

long  ere  the  sadness  shades  the  brow,  or  a  tear  dims  the  eye, 
or  a  burden  presses  the  spirit,  or  the  perplexity  weaves  its  web 
around   the   [nth,  or  the  archer   bends  his  bow  and   win 
shaft — all  was  known  to  Him,  and  by  Him  it  was  appointed. 

"  Beloved  bearers,  there  is  often  on  this  stage  of  our  existence 
a  sorrow  almost  too  sacred  for  human  approach.  !t  is  that  of 
the  bereaved.  We  return  to  the  house  of  mourning  from  the 
grave  wh  sre  repose  tho  ashes  of  one  once  animated  and  glowing 
with  a  spirit  that  blended  with  oar  own  ;  we  seem  to  have  en- 
tombed a  second  self  —  all  that  gave  existence  an  object,  or  life 
its  charm.  But  let  us  arise  and  tell  the  compassionate  Saviour 
whal  a  wreck  life  seems,  what  wintry  gloom  enshrouds  all  the 
landscape  of  human  existence, —  tell  Him  how  mysterious  seems 
the  event,  how  heavy  falls  the  blow,  what  hard,  dark,  rebellious 
thoughts  of  God  now  haunt  the  perturbed  mind.  Lay  the  grief 
upon  His  breast,  and  think  not  that  you  are  alone  in  your  sor- 
row, that  there  is  not  one  in  tins  wide  world  who  can  appreciate 
your  loss,  or  enter  into  all  the  peculiar  features  of  your  afflic- 
tions, the  delicate  shadings  of  your  .sadness.  There  is  One,  and 
that  One  only.  He  robs  us  of  the  idol  we  love  too  well,  that 
He  himself  may  occupy  ils  place  in  the  heart.  And  lastly, 
tell  Him  all,  tell  Him  every  thing.  Tell  Ilim  of  the  world's 
woundings,  of  the  spirit's  tremblings,  of  the  heart's  anguish. 
Tell  linn  of  tho  low  frames,  the  mental  despondencies,  the 
gloomy  fears,  beclouded  evidences,  and  veiled  hope.  Tell  Him 
the  bodily  infirmities  —  the  waning  health,  failing  vigor,  pro- 
gressive disease,  the  pain,  the  lassitude,  the  nervousness,  the 
weary  couch,  the  sleepless  pillow.  Tell  Him  of  your  dread 
of  death,  how  you  recoil  from  dying,  and  how  dark  and  rayless 
appears  the  body's  last  resting-place.  Tell  Him  how  all  beyond 
it  looks  so  dreary,  starless,  hopeless.  Tell  Him  you  fear  you 
do  not  know  Him,  love  Him,  believe  in  Him.  Tell  him  all 
the  temptations,  the  difficulties,  the  hidden  trials  and  sorrows 
of  your  path.  There  is  no  temporal  want,  no  spiritual  sorrow, 
that  you  may  not,  in  the  confidence  of  love,  and  in  the  simpli- 
city of  faith,  pour  before  the  Mercy  Seat  of  the  Redeemer  — 
,' Casting  all  your  care  upon  him,  for  he  careth  for  you.'  Tell 
Him  your  desolateness  as  a  widow,  your  friendlessness  as  an 
orphan,  your  sadness  and  solitude  as  one  whose  heart  is  over- 
whelmed within  you.  And  think  this  no  weak,  sentimental 
Christianity  to  which  I  am  urging  you.  There  is  no  other 
which  so  appeals  to  the  intellect,  as  to  the  most  sacred  feelings 
ind  aifjetions  of  the  heart.  This  reliance  upon  God  in  all  the 
minutue  of  life,  is  the  divinest,  loftiest,  and  sublimest  that  can 
8* 


178  A    M'lWlKlfs    STOBY. 

possibly  task  the  powers  of  the  human  soul.  All  (lie  splendor 
of  human  philosophy,  science  ami  prowess,  pales  before  the 
moral  grandeur  which  gathers,  like  a  halo,  around  a  mortal 
man  reposing  at  the  feel  of  the  incarnate  God,  unveiling  his 
whole  soul  in  all  the  childlike  confidence  of  a  faith  that  grasps 
I  ih.  At  this  focal  point  must  meet  the  profound  philoso- 
pher, and  the  untutored  peasant  ;  the  matured  man  and  tin; 
little  child;  an  I  He  who  is  always  more  ready  to  hear  than  we 
to  pray,  is  nevr  sought  in  vain.  Here,  all  that  is  tender 
in  love,  faithful  in  friendship,  wise  in  counsel,  long-suffering 
in  patience,  balmy,  soothing,  and  healing  in  the  deepest  sym- 
pathy, constitute  the  attractions  of  this  everlasting  Friend.  For 
there  is  not  a  moment  of  time,  nor  an  event  of  life,  nor  a  cir- 
cumstance of  daily  history,  nor  a  mental  or  spiritual  emotion, 
in  which  you  are  not  borne  in  the  ceaseless  intercession  of  the 
Saviour.  Live  in  closer  intimacy  with  Him,  and  the  spirit  of 
meekness,  kindness,  gentleness,  charity  ami  forbearance  towards 
your  fellow  men,  will  enable  you  to  do  His  will  on  earth,  that 
when  moons  shall  wane,  and  stars  tall,  and  this  earth  pass  away 
as  a  scroll,  when  the  Son  of  Man  appears  in  the  clouds  with  the 
company  of  the  Heavenly  host,  that  the  summons  to  meet  thy 
God  may  not  find  you  unprepared.  '  Charity  shall  cover  the 
multitude  of  sins.'  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of 
the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me.'  " 

The  words  of  the  preacher  ceased,  and  descending  from  the 
pulpit,  Ire  took  his  seat  in  an  obscure  part  of  the  chancel. 

The  service  concluded,  they  left  the  church.  The  rain  fell 
in  torrents,  and  many  thronged  the  steps  waiting  for  their  car- 
riages, as  Charles  made  his  way  round  to  the  door  of  the  ves- 
try ;  but  he  reached  it  only  in  time  to  see  a  carriage  drive  off, 
which  he  afterwards  learned  contained  the  friend  they  so  much 
wished  to  see.  The  rector  informed  him  of  the  hotel  where  Mr. 
Everett  could  be  found,  and  stated  that  he  believed  it  the  young 
minister's  intention  to  remain  but  a  short  time  in  Berlin. 

The  next  morning  Charles  repaired  to  the  hotel  in  quest  of 
the  familiar  face  of  Mr.  Everett.  They  had  long  been  among 
strangers,  and  the  opportunity  of  renewing  such  a  friendship 
was  not  to  be  lost.  To  the  disappointment  of  all,  he  was  told 
the  clergyman  left  that  morning  by  an  early  train  for  some  dis- 
tant part  of  Europe,  they  knew  not  where. 

"  Charles,  I  am  going  to  the  academy  this  morning,  good-by ; 
but  what  have  you  so  amusing  there,  a  letter?  " 

"  Yes,  from  Alfred."  And  again  he  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of 
laughter. 


a  spinstee's  stobv.  179 

"  What  can  bo  the  caus    of  your  merriment  !  " 

"  Why,  a  sudden  calamity  that  1ms  befallen  that  unfortunate 
Burrow." 

"  But  what  about  Anna  *?     Do  tell  me  !  " 

"  Oh  Lydia  !  if  you  are  going  to  Berlin  this  morning,  let  me 
tell  you  that  the  train  begins  to-day  to  start  at  an  earlier  hour, 
and  you  just  have  time  to  catch  it.  So  wait  until  you  come 
back,  to  hear  the  contents  of  the  letter:  it's  glorious  news,  I  can 
tell  you.     Now  go,  good-by  !  " 

The  Academy  of  Design  to  which  Lydia  was  going,  was  an 
institution  founded  liy  one  of  the  royal  family  for  the  promotion 
of  the  art  of  painting.  There  was  one  gallery  for  women,  to 
which  many  of  the  most  distinguished  ladies  of  the  capital  re- 
sorted, to  copy  from  the  artists  of  the  old  schools.  Once  a  year 
there  was  a  sale  of  pictures  to  which  every  lady  was  required 
to  contribute  one,  the  proceeds  of  which  were  given  to  a  socie- 
ty for  poor  artists.  This  year  a  valuable  painting  of  the  Flem- 
ish School  was  offered  to  the  one  who  should  execute  the  most 
perfect  -representation  of  a  sleeping  beauty  ;  and  Lydia,  whose 
time  was  not  fully  occupied  at  home,  and  who  had  been  intro- 
duced into  this  gallery,  was  one  chosen  to  compete  for  the  prize. 
She  was  exceedingly  fond  of  the  art,  and  passed  many  pleasant 
hours  at  her  easel.  She  had  painted  several  portraits  from 
memory,  and  now  resolved  not  to  copy,  but  merely  follow  the 
dictates  of  her  own  imagination.  The  outline  had  been  care- 
fully drawn,  yet  this  morning  as  she  placed  the  canvass  upon 
the  easel,  and  stood  to  take  a  survey  of  the  whole,  the  mouth 
did  not  meet  with  her  approbation,  and  supposing  herself  to  be 
alone  in  the  gallery,  exclaimed  half  aloud, — 

'•  I  should  like  to  see  a  very  pretty  mouth  !  " 

"  Then  bring  a  looking-glass  next  time  !  "  said  a  deep-toned 
voice  behind  her. 

She  turned,  and  there  was  the  tall  figure  of  a  man  attired  in 
black,  but  the  face  was  averted,  and  he  appeared  gazing  intent- 
ly upon  a  painting  that  hung  near  him.  But  soon  it  turned, 
and  the  pale,  cold  countenance  of  Mr.  Everett  was  before  her. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  recognize  you  after  that,"  said 
Lydia,  as  she  went  towards  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Villiers,  although  I  have  no  other  plea 
than  that  it  was  a  mere  lapsus  linguas.  I  throw  myself  upon 
your  mercy  ;  in  fact  I  am  too  much  delighted  to  see  you  to  find 
words  for  any  purpose.  Travelling  has  done  you  no  harm,  for 
I  never  saw  you  look  better  :  indeed,  Lydia,  to  look  at  you, 
seems  already  to  have  done  me  good.     I  scarcely  know  why, 


180  a  spinster's   story. 

bat  T  have  had  very  little  to  cheer  me  since  you  left  ;  although 
T  paw  but  Little  of  you,  it  was  sufficient  to  stimulate  mo  for  the 
rest  "f  the  time.  Ly  lia,  you  never  knew  what  a  halo  of  hap- 
piness you  were  throwing  round  me,  and  I  never  intended  to 
telL  1  don't  know  why  I  have  now,  and  yet  1  am  sure  it  would 
be  a  pleasure  to  you  to  know  you  had  been  the  means  of  mak- 
ing any  one  more  happy. 

"  Mr.  Everett,  you  are  becoming  more  prosy  than  I  ever  knew 
yen  before;  or  perhaps  I  feel  less  inclined  than  I  used,  to  re- 
ceive your  sentiments,  and  having  disposed  of  them  to  my  own 
amusement,  fling  them  hack  to  you.  So  you  see,  sir."  added 
she  playfully,  "as  I  have  grown  more  sage  we  shall  not  agree 
as  well  as  formerly  unless  you  resolve  to  abandon  your  present 
mode  of  address." 

"  Lydia,"  and  the  tone  became  firmer  and  more  earnest,  "  I 
admire  your  decision.  You  are  right  not  to  let  me  talk  in  that 
strain,  for  I  know  it  is  now  distasteful  to  you.  I  don't  know 
what  I  have  said,  but  you  are  not  the  child  you  once  were,  and 
I  ought  to  keep  such  thoughts  to  myself  —  and  will,  hereafter." 

Lydia's  time  at  the  academy  was  limited,  and  promising  to 
call  upon  them  the  first  opportunity,  Mr.  Everett  saw  her  to  the 
train  and  took  his  leave. 

He  had  not  given  the  slightest  clue  to  his  reason  for  leaving 
Philadelphia,  and  Lydia,  who  was  not  the  most  curious  in  the 
world,  assured  herself  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  her,  and  re- 
si  dved  to  think  no  more  about  it. 

It  was  the  evening,  and  they  sat  together  in  a  little  arbor  of 
the  garden,  when  the  gate  opened  and  Mr.  Everett  entered. 

All  were  glad  to  see  him,  as  he  was  to  meet  them,  and  as 
they  chatted  on  the  time  passed  rapidly.  Yet  the  spirits  of 
their  visitor  seemed  depressed,  and  they  did  all  in  their  power 
to  entertain  him.  They  told  him  of  their  voyage,  and  the  story 
of  the  wreck,  when  Charles  fully  expected  to  find  him  enthu- 
siastic about  Beatrice.  But  he  listened  to  all  without  saying  a 
word;  certainly  his  countenance  might  have  changed  during  the 
recital,  but,  sheltered  from  the  rays  of  the  moon,  it  was  not  visi- 
ble, and  as  soon  as  they  hail  finished  speaking  of  the  missing 
girl,  he  abruptly  bade  good-night,  and  took  his  departure. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  cold,  formal  being  on  this  stage  of 
existence!"  said  Charles,  as  soon  as  he  was  gone.  "Surely 
any  one  who  could  not  manifi  sympathy  for  the  unhap- 

py fate  of  poor  Beatrice,  must  he  truly  hard-hearted,  an  1  void 
of  all  feeling.  How  I  do  dislike  such  men  !  1  utterly  despise 
them  !  " 


a  spixster's  story.  181 

"  Oh,  but  indeed  he  is  neither  unfeeling  or  unkind;"  said 
Mrs.  Villiers.  •'Think  of  bis  indefatigable  exeitions  among 
the  poor,  surely  he  wis  no  hypocrite  in  those.  And  certainly 
in  his  sermons  he  is  as  one  inspired.  We  will  not  .judge  the 
man  we  have  known  so  long  to  be  worthy  of  oar  esteem  and 
love,  as  harsh  and  ansympath  stic,  because  he  shows  himself  in- 
different on  one  occasion.  He  was  evidently  occupied  with 
other  thoughts,  and  did  not  heed  sufficiently  to  gtin  a  full  view 
of  the  case.  Let  us  always  think  as  charitably  as  we  can  of 
every  one." 

Lydia  said  untiling.  Usually  so  ready  to  vindicate  the  ac- 
cused, she  now  seemed  too  much  occupied  with  her  own  thoughts  ; 
but  with  an  effort  she  roused  herself  from  the  reverie,  and  strove 
to  entertain  and  amuse  those  who  looked  up  to  her  vivacity  as 
the  safeguard  against  the  gloomy  despondency  that  so  often 
seemed  ready  to  encloud  them. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"  There's  niony  a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip." 

';  On  Anna,  saved!  saved!"  exclaimed  Alfred  one  morn- 
ing as  he  rushed  into  her  room.  "  What  an  escape  for  you  ! 
Miraculous  event  !  Arrested  on  suspicion  of  murder  !  And 
you  may  depend  upon  it  he  has  done  it ;  his  very  face  never 
looked  like  a  Christian's,  but  always  had  the  appearance  of 
some  condemned  convict  awaiting  execution.  I  don't  wonder 
at  all.  he  looked  just  the  one  to  commit  such  a  crime.  Hurrah 
for  the  old  hypocrite  !  " 

"  Alfred,  what  do  you  mean  '?  Of  whom  are  you  speaking, 
why  are  you  so  excited  ?     You  frighten  me  !  " 

"  Anna,  only  listen  and  I'll  read  it  to  you,"  replied  he  as  he 
caught  the  newspaper  he  had  flung  high  in  the  air.  "  Here  it 
is  !  •  Last  evening  a  man  was  found  dead  upon  the  steps  of 
the  Merchant's  Exchange,  who,  it  was  discovered,  had  died  from 
a  sling  shot  that  was  lodged  in  his  head.  It  was  late,  and  the 
street  was  deserted  by  all  except  the  policeman  upon  his  b  'at, 
who  testifies  that  he  saw  two  men  descend  the  steps  of  the  Ex- 
change, when  suddenly  one  fell,  while  the  other  moved  quickly 
down  the  street.  He  was  speedily  arrested,  and  proved  to  ho 
Robert  F.  Barrow,  the  little  old  man  so  well  known  at  the  Mer- 
chant's Exchange.     He  awaits  his  trial.'  " 


182  \    3PENTS1  BB'S   STORY. 

The  work  had  fallen  from  Anna's  hands,  and  in  her  amaze- 
ment,  ahe  Bat  as  one  petrified.  But  Alfred,  on  the  contrary, 
seemed  little  impressed  by  the  seriousness  of  the  case,  and  con- 
tinned  to  manifest  by  his  antics  about  the  room,  that  he  exulted 
in  the  misfortune  of  poor  Barrow,  who,  he  declared,  must  have 
gained  his  wealth  by  dishonesty,  and  would  now  reap  the  fruits 
of  such  a  fraudulent  life. 

But  below  stairs,  no  such  scene  of  rejoicing  presented  itself. 
Upon  hearing  the  strange  intelligence,  Susan  had  rushed  into 
her  mother's  room  to  apprise  her  of  the  circumstance.  The  cur- 
tains were  closely  drawn  round  the  bed,  but  two  bony,  spindle 
shanks,  terminating  in  a  pedestrial  form,  protruded  from  beneath 
the  drapery,  an  indication  that  the  meagre  little  figure  of  the 
old  lady  was  about  to  descend  to  the  floor.  But  Susan  was  not 
in  a  humor  to  await  such  a  debut,  so,  going  up  to  the  bed,  hasti- 
ly threw  the  curtains  aside,  and  rinding  the  thin,  spare  form 
sitting  up  amid  the  pillows,  with  the  eyes  closed,  she  supposed 
her  mother  still  in  the  land  of  nod,  and  in  order  to  awaken  the 
sleeper,  suddenly  gave  the  poor  old  lady  a  tremendous  snake. 
The  little  grey  eyes  were  raised  imploringly  to  the  excited  Su- 
san, who  screamed  in  a  passionate  tone,  ''  He's  in  prison,  so 
there'll  be  no  wedding,"  and  quitted  the  room,  leaving  the  old 
lady  unconscious  whether  she  had  seen  a  vision,  or  whether  Su- 
san had  really  paid  her  a  visit  ;  and  to  determine  which  it  was, 
she  hastily  threw  her  clothes  around  her,  and  descended  to  the 
dining-room,  where  she  found  her  turbulent  daughter  pacing 
the  floor  with  a  flushed  cheek  and  angry  frown,  that  forbade 
any  questions  from  any  one,  while  she  exclaimed  in  vehement 
tones,  "  It's  outrageous  !  intolerable  !  Just  as  I  was  about  to 
become  all  that  I  wished,  and  have  the  pleasure  of  triumphing 
over  that  Pyke  who  thinks  herself  the  queen  of  fashion;  just 
when  it  wanted  one  step  to  gain  the  height  of  my  ambition,  that 
old  sinner  must,  get  himself  into  prison,  on  purpose  to  thwart 
all  my  plans  for  making  this  good  match.  There  never  was 
anything  like  it.  But  these  young  rebels  shall  not  stay  here  to 
taunt  me  ;  I'll  pretty  soon  clear  them  off,  now  there's  nothing 
to  be  gained  by  them  ;  fool  that  I  have  been  even  to  suppose  I 
should  lie  fortunate  in  anything.  But  it  shall  be  the  last  time 
Idl  lie  so  deceived  ;  for  I'll  never  again  anticipate  any  good 
where  men  have  anything  to  do  with  it ;  I  might  have  known 
nothing  hut  misery  could  spring  from  such  a  miserable,  decrepit 
old  monster  ! 

"  But  Susan,  [don't  understand,"  ventured  the  old  lady,  as  soon 
as  there  was  a  pause.     "  I  thought  nothing  was  going  to  happen 


a  spinstek's  stokv.  183 

to  prevent  the  wedding  taking  place.  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Whohas  been  killed  ?  not  that  poor,  dear  Barrow,  1  hope  !  And 
do  tell  me,  who  is  the  monster  they've  put  in  prison?  " 

In  few  words  Susan  made  her  mother  understand  the  cause 
of  her  disappointment,  when  the  countenance  of  the  old  lady 
changed  from  wonder  to  dismay,  and  sitting  down  as  she  folded 
her  hands,  sfie  began  in  a  doleful  tone, — 

"  It's  just  what  I  expected,  Susan.  I  always  thought  some- 
thing would  happen  to  prevent  this  scheme  of  yours.  You 
know,  Susan,  I  once  told  you  how  wrong  I  thought  it  was  to 
force  that  poor  child  to  marry  such  a  disagreeable  old  man  ;  for, 
as  you  know  very  well,  they  don't  owe  us  anything  yet.  I'm 
sure  it  is  the  punishment  for  planning  such  a  wicked  plot;  and 
you  know  too,  Susan,  that  I've  often  wanted  to  be  a  good  chris- 
tian, but  you  never  would  let  me,  because  you  wanted  to  wear 
feathers  and  flounces,  although  I  told  you,  you  might  not  catch 
a  husband,  if  you  did;  and  you  see,  in  order  to  have  these 
fineries  we  have  done  such  a  wicked  thing  as  to  engage  poor 
Anna  to  this  queer  little  man  ;  and  now  after  all  the  trouble 
and  arranging  that  we  have  had,  this  is  all  there  is  for  our  pains. 
But  how  very  wicked  the  little  old  man  was  to  do  such  a  thing. 
I  wish  I  had  known  he  was  going  to  commit  such  a  crime,  I'd 
have  had  him  in  prison  long  ago.  And  Susan,  don't  you  know 
that  when  an  affair  like  Anna's  comes  to  nothing,  it  is  generally 
the  custom  to  send  back  the  presents?  " 

"  Not  to  such  a  Hottentot  as  he  is ;  I  intend  to  keep  them 
all  myself ;  its  precious  little  that  I've  gained  to  what  I  had  es- 
pected,  and  he'll  never  see  any  of  them  again." 

The  sun  had  risen  higher  in  the  heavens,  it  was  time  for  Al- 
fred to  say  good-by,  and  once  again  Anna  was  left  alone.  A 
restlessness  which  she  could  not  resist  came  over  her,  and  find- 
ing it  painful  to  remain  within  the  house,  she  hastily  finished 
her  simple  toilet  and  with  a  step  which  for  her  was  firm  and  de- 
termined, left  her  room.  She  had  thought  to  make  her  escape 
from  the  house  unnoticed,  but  before  she  could  open  the  street 
door,  she  heard  Susan's  step  upon  the  stairs,  and  found  her 
flight  was  detected. 

"  Why  Anna  !  what  do  you  mean,  who  said  you  might  go  out  ? 
I  declare  this  is  something  new  !  " 

"  I'm  going  to  Mrs.  Barrow.  I  think  she  is  all  alone,  and 
it  must  be  a  great  shock  to  the  poor  old  lady." 

"What!  go  to  the  house  in  broad  daylight?  Anna,  you 
want  to  disgrace  us.  What  do  you  suppose  people  will  think 
to  see  you  continue  such   an   acquaintance.     And  as  to  a  shock 


184  a  spinster's  story. 

for  thai  old  mother  of  his,  why  of  course  she  know  all  ahout  it 
long  ago  Now  I  come  to  think  of  the  queer,  oblique  glances 
of  bis  squinting  ocd  always  looking  in  everydirec- 

tion,  I  don't  wonder  that  with  such  n  conscience  be  could  never 
look  any  one  straight  in  the  face,  1  Jut  go  out  of  my  sight  I 
wish  I  could  never  see  you  again,  for,  when  you  were  wanted  to 
like  the  man,  you  were  determined  to  he  obstinate  and  find  all 
the  fault  you  could  in  him  ;  and  now  that  he  is  a  miserable  crimi- 
nal, you  must  do  all  you  can  to  keep  up  a  close  intimacy  with 
them,  just  because  you  know  it  will  make  me  furious." 

"  Susan,  I  ]iity  any  one  in  distress,  for  T  know  too  well  what 
it  is  to  lie  wretched  myself.  And  Susan,  pray  don't  accuse  any 
one  of  such  a  crime  until  there  is  more  proof;  perhaps  he  is 
not  the  guilty  party,  then  think  what  misery  must  overshadow 
them  just  now.  Oh,  Susan,  you  don't  know,  hut  I  do,  what  it 
is  to  he  left  alone  when  you  are  in  trouble,  and  how  dark  the 
world  seems,  when  all  are  forsaking  you.  Oh,  Susan,'  please 
never  condemn  a  fellow  being  like  that  again,  it  makes  my  heart 
ache  to  hear  you  ;  I  cannot  be  indifferent  to  it,  I  have  too  often 
been  called  upon  to  suffer,  myself!  "  And  as  she  caught  hold 
of  the  skirts  of  Susan's  dress,  while  she  entreated  her  to  cease 
her  accusations,  she  sank  upon  her  knees,  and  burst  into  a  flood 
of  tears. 

"  You're  a  miserable  girl,  go  out  of  this  house,  and  never 
enter  it  again  ;  don't  let  me  see  your  face  once  more,  or  I  might 
do  something  desperate  !  Begone  !  "  and  opening  the  door,  she 
shut  it  again  upon   the  slender  form    she   had   forced  upon   the 

steps. 

The  morning  air  was  cool  and  refreshing,  and  invigorated  the 
feehle  frame  which  long  fasting,  together  with  the  sudden  news 
of  the  morning  had  quite  enervated. 

On  reaching  Mrs.  Barrow's,  she  found  the  poor  old  lady  had 
received  a  para'ytic  stroke,  and  could  not  he  made  conscious  of 
her  presence.  But  the  servant  put  a  paper  in  her  hand  ;  it 
bore  no  direction,  and  upon  the  inside  was  written  the  following — 

"  My  cry  dear  Anna  : —  Come  to  me;   I  am  sick  and  in  prison.     I 
i  nil  last  night  when   I  thought  of  your  great  disappointment,  for 
know,  Anna,  how  much  [  love  you.     But  as  ><  on  as   I  am  released 
we  will  have  nil  us  we  wish  ;  [  do  hope  no  one  will  steal  my  money  while 
I  am  here.     I  have  very  much    to  say  to  you,  SO  eome  si  mi  ;  besides,  I 
can  t    make  the.  people  here    believe  about  you,  they  only  laugh    at  me 
oil  iu,  and    I    want    them  to  see  you  and    know  1  I    11 

the  truth.  Bat  I  know  you  will  eome,  because  you  always  do  right, 
and  mind  .Anna,  if  you  do  not  come  and  see  me,  you  will  have  to  an- 
swer for  it  at  the  day  of  judgment.     And  that  you  may  not  let  people 


a  spinster's  story.  185 

laugh  at  me,  is   the  earnest  wish  of  Barrow,  the  one  who   belongs  to 
you  for  always. 

And  please  tell  every  body  that  you  are  sure  I  never  throw  sling 
shots  at  men's  heads  You  know,  for  your  sake,  I  could  not  > to  any- 
thing so  wicked,  and  in  all  truth  I  know  nothing  about  the  affair.  .My 
good  mother  is  very  bad,  but  I  am  sure  you  are  with  her  because  you 
do  everything  that  you  ought.  My  tears  have  run  into  the  ink  so  that 
I  cannot  write  any  more." 

With  a  pity  that  was  mingled  with  contempt  and  disgust, 
Anna  cast  the  paper  from  her,  and  having  performed  several 
little  offices  for  the  comfort  of  the  poor  old  lady,  she  thought 
the  anger  of  Susan  must  have  in  a  degree  subsided,  and  bent 
her  steps  homeward,  and  was  glad  to  hear  that  lady  was  up 
stairs  busily  occupied  with  the  dressmakers  and  milliners  who 
were  to  remain  this  last  day  finishing  her  wardrobe.  "  Of  course 
Anna's  things  would  be  of  no  consequence,  as  she  never  would 
have  occasion  to  wear  them." 

"  Susan,  why  wont  you  give  me  the  little  parcel  Mr.  Everett 
left  for  me  ?  If  you  will  let  me  have  it,  I  will  certainly  show 
you  the  contents.1' 

"  Here,  take  it,  for  I  want  nothing  that  belongs  to  you."  And 
she  flung  it  towards  her. 

Removing  the  wrapper  she  found  a  small  rosewood  box,  ar- 
tistically inlaid  with  mother-of  pearl,  the  formation  of  which 
spelled  her  name,  and  also  bore  the  initials  of  the  giver. 
Within,  lay  a  prayer  book,  whose  fly  leaf  contained  the  words 
"  Watch  and  pray,  lest  ye  enter  into  temptation."  Beside  it, 
was  a  little  book  entitled  "  The  Progress  of  Piety,"  of  which  he 
himself  was  the  author.  A  small  gold  ring  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  the  box,  also  a  little  note  which  ran  thus : 

"  Anna  :  —  As  you  wear  this,  remember  —  that  you  may  continue 
faithful  and  diligent  in  the  Church  Militant  and  secure  an  inheatauce 
in  the  Church  Triumphant,  is  the  prayer  of 

Herbert  E.  Everett." 

"  The  man's  beside  himself,  Anna  !'"  and  Susan  threw  the 
note  upon  the  floor.  "I'm  sure  he  doesn't  care  for  you,  and 
none  but  a  maniac  would  take  all  that  trouble  for  nothing.  But 
Judy  has  just  opened  the  door  to  some  one,  go  and  attend  to 
them,  and  if  it's  that  Sally  Pyke,  say  I'm  too  ill  to  lie  seen." 

Anna  entered  the  parlor,  and  for  a  few  moments  saw  no  one  ; 
at  last  the  rustling  of  silk  behind  the  door,  drew  her  attention 
in  that  direction,  and  there,  upon  an  ottoman,  reclined  none 
other  than  Miss  Sarah  Pyke.     Anna  expected  she  would  leave 


186  a  spinster's   stobt. 

her  retirement,  and  be  the  firs!  to  Bpeak,  but  she  still  sat  the 
Bame  picture  of  apathy.  At  length,  after  a  few  preliminaries 
which  scarcely  drew  a  response  from  her  ladyship,  Anna  re- 
marked,— 

"  Vmi  musl  have  been  very  much  astonished  upon  hearing  of 
Mr.  Barrow's  arrest  !  " 

"  (i!i,  ao  !  Not  in  the  least,  my  dear!  I'm  never  surprised 
ai  any  thing  men  do  ;   I've  studied  their  nature  too  long  for  that." 

•'  WTial  !    weren't  you  at  all  astonished  then'.''' 

'•  Anna,  as  I  have  always  said,  men  are  very  strange,  myste- 
rious beings  ;  and  there's  no  telling  what  they  wont  do  in  the 
Course  of  a  lifetime.  Oh,  no  !  I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  he 
had  committed  SO  great  a  crime,  because  I  know  it  comes  natural 
to  them  to  do  all  such  things.  Why  you  know,  Anna,  boys  are 
for  ever  in  mischief,  and  certainly  it  must  strengthen  with  their 
strength,  so  that  by  the  time  they  are  men,  these  evils  have  de- 
generated into  enormous  crimes.  I'm  sorry  to  say  it,  my  dear, 
but  it  is  always  so,  even  with  the  very  best  of  them  ;  they  can- 
not be  trusted  out  of  your  sight."  Here  the  countenance  of  the 
lady  assumed  a  more  pathetic  expression,  and  she  continued  — 
"  That  is  why  our  state  is  termed  single  blessedness,  because 
we  have  not  such  torments  to  harass  us.  And  my  dear  Anna, 
when  they  tell  you  how  dear  you  are  to  them,  don't  believe 
them,  it's  only  a  mere  pretense.  I've  never  listened  to  them, 
because  I  preferred  to  remain  a  spinster,  as  I  always  knew  how 
treacherous  they  were ;  besides  I  never  flirt,  because  when  I 
appear  to  good  advantage  I  am  quite  attractive,  and  I  have  too 
much  feeling  to  make  any  poor  fellow  heart-broken  about  me. 
But  there's  some  one  in  the  entry.  Why,  Anna,  it's  a  gentle- 
man !  "  (looking  through  the  crack  of  the  door.)  "  Who  can  it 
be  !     Does  he  come  to  see  you?  " 

The  stranger  now  entered  the  parlor.  He  was  a  young  man 
of  fine  proportions,  upon  whose  tall  figure  the  eager  gaze  of 
Miss  Pyke  was  instantly  riveted,  as  she  stood  directly  before 
him,  holding  her  eye-glasses  upon  her  wrinkled  nose. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  Miss  Wentworth,"  said  the  stranger, 
whereupon  Miss  Pyke  let\the  room,  and  stood  without,  with  the 
door  partly  open,  that  she  might  hear  what  passed  between  An- 
na and  the  stranger. 

,;  Miss  Wentworth,"  said  the  visitor,  "  I  hope  you  will  par- 
don me  if  1  appear  officious,  but  1  have  been  given  to  under- 
stand that  you  are  about  ft)  hold  a  peculiar  relationship  to  the 
prisoner,  Robert  Harrow,  now  under  arrest,  and  thinking  your 
anxiety  must   be   insupportable,  I  hasted  to  inform  you,  that  as 


a  spinster's  story.  187 

the  most  able  counsel  will  be  employed,  the  case  may  not  end 
ns  gloomily  as  matters  at  present  predict."  He  bowed  and  rose 
to  leave.  A  smile  played  upon  his  features,  and  it  was  but 
too  evid  ml  that  curiosity  alone  had  prompted  his  visit.  "  And 
no  wonder,"  thought  Anna,  as  she  followed  him  to  the  door, 
"  no  wonder  indeed  that  any  one  should  be  curious  to  see  who 
it  is  wlio  would  be  willing  to  form  such  a  link  in  the  chain  of 
connection  of  the  miserable  Barrow." 

Perhaps  there  arc  few  trials  more  difficult  to  bear  when  we 
are  in  trouble,  than  dissimulation  and  ridicule.  And  grieved 
at  finding  herself  so  ill-suited  to  withstand  the  taunts  of  the 
world,  she  left  the  affected  Miss  Pyke  to  herself,  and  sought  the 
seclusion  of  her  room,  to  weep  alone  once  more  over  the  mis- 
eries of  her  unhappy  lot. 

"  Anna,  a  letter  came  to  you  one  day  this  week,"  said  Mrs. 
Gilbert  one  afternoon,  as  she  held  several  pieces  of  torn  paper 
and  an  envelope  towards  her.  "  I'm  sorry  its  all  torn  to  pieces 
so,  but  that  Susan  got  it  before  I  knew  anything  of  it,  and  you 
know  what  a  tiger  she  is  when  any  trifle  excites  her." 

Anna  took  the  torn  fragments,  and  soon  saw  by  the  hand 
that  the  letter  was  from  Lydia.  On  one  piece  was  the  follow- 
ing— "  You  will  be  surprised  my  own  dear  Anna  to  hear  that 
I  am  about  to  leave  my  home  and  those  so  dear  to  me.  to  brook 
strange  faces  in  a  country  as  foreign  to  me  as  my  situation  will 
be  novel."  At  the  top  of  another  fragment  was  the  line, 
"  So  to-morrow  Mr.  Everett  and  I  start  for  France;  "  and  no 
definite  meaning  could  be  gathered  from  the  rest. 

"  Anna,  there's  that  giddy,  flighty  Kate  down  stairs  waiting 
to  see  you ;  why  don't  you  go  to  her,  who  do  you  suppose  is  go- 
ing to  entertain  your  company  ?  " 

Anna  hastily  gathered  up  the  fragments  of  paper,  upon  hear- 
ing Susan's  voice,  and  kissing  the  envelope,  placed  it  in  her 
bosom,  and  joined  the  merry  little  body  below. 

"  Oh  my  dear  Anna,  I've  been  wanting  to  see  you  for  a  long 
time  to  know  how  you  are  affected  by  this  remarkable  circum- 
stance of  the  horrid  old  creature,  because  if  you  are  grieving  at 
the  loss  of  your  inestimable  friend  I  will  endeavor  to  console  you  ; 
and  if  you  rejoice  at  your  escape  from  such  a  monster,  why  I'm 
very  ready  to  laugh  with  you  upon  his  being  in  safe  keeping 
within  prison  walls.  But  you  can't  be  glad  about  it  for  you 
look  as  pale  as  ever.  "What  a  strange  girl  you  must  be,  to  grieve 
after  such  a  wretched  old  heathen, —  how  you  can  care  for  him  is 
beyond  my  comprehension.     Oh,  but  while  I  think  of  it  —  Does 


188  a  srixsTicn's  story. 

Ly  lia  Bay  much  "('  Charles,  in  her  letters  to  you?  H)  Ins  nov- 
el- answered  my  letter, —  insolent  follow!  I  suppose  he  thinks, 
because  he  belongs  to  a  wealthy  family,  thai  he's  going  to  mar- 
ry on  •  of  tii  •  E  irop  •  in  prin  ■  >ss  ss.  He  needn't  think  a  i  m  ich 
of  himself,  for  I  don't  care  anything  about  him  now.  There 
are  plenty  such  to  be  had.  Although,"  and  the  countenance 
of  the  lit 1 1  ■  beauty  became  more  serious,  "  it's  such  a  difficult 
matter  to  meet  with  a  real  good  sort  of  a  fellow,  one  who  will 
be  very  kind  to  you,  let  you  have  your  own  way  in  everything, 
stay  at  home  when  you  like,  do  always  as  you  wish  him, 
and  care  nothing  at  all  for  any  one  but  you.  Half  of  them 
don't  care  who  likes  th  sm  b  sst,  th  sy  want  a  girl  whose  father 
has  just  so  much  to  give  her,  or  else  she  must  be  attractive,  and 
often  with  both,  her  family  is  noi  as  good  as  is  required.  And 
30  letiraes  with  all  these  a  poor  girl  cannot  fascinate  the  one 
for  whom  alone  she  cares  to  live.      Isn't  it  awful?" 

Kate  stopped  speaking,  her  eyes  were  cast  upon  the  floor  ; 
and  as  she  stood  lost  in  thought,  the  pretty  face  seemed  to  An- 
na more  interesting  than  ever.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  animation 
came  river  her  features,  and  she  exclaimed,  "  But  if  I  continue 
to  talk  in  this  strain  I  shall  get  the  blues.  And  so  Mr.  Everett 
has  gone  at  last ;  so  you  see  our  prognostications  were  right ; 
he  has  really  gone  after  Lydia,  and  now  he'll  declare  to  her, 
that  if  she  does  not  take  compassion  on  him,  he  will  remain  a 
bachelor  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  I  know  he  was  always  pas- 
sionately fond  of  her,  though  it  was  evident  she  cared  nothing 
at  all  for  him  ;  still,  as  she  is  such  a  good-hearted  girl,  she's 
sure  to  take  pity  on  him.     Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  !  " 

"  Oh,  but  it's  sure  to  be  so.  I  ran  against  that  Pyke  yester- 
day,—  haven't  we  a  bevy  of  old  maids  in  this  part  of  the  city? 
and  I  do  detest  them  so  much  !  —  But  I  must  go  if.  that's  the 
right  time;  what  a  queer,  old-fashionel  looking  clock  that  is  ! 
How  can  it  keep  correct  time?  I  should  think  it  would  be  like 
that  Harrow  —  as  had  inside  as  out.  Do  you  think  I'm  pretty  ?  " 
as  she  figured  before  the  mirror.  "  Some  tell  me  so,  although 
my  looks  don't  do  very  much  for  me  at  present,  but  they  may 
some  day, —  you  will  see  But  then  again,  I'm  so  little  !  that  is 
why  T  don't  like  Josephine  to  go  out  with  me,  she's  so  tall  and 
big  like  her  father,  that  she  hides  me.  Oh,  I  must  go  an  1  dress 
for  the  opera.  I  hope  he  will  con--,  I'm  sure  I  shall  die  if  he 
disappoints  me.  Do  you  know  who  I  mean?  I  wish  you 
could  see  him  !  But  you  will  hear  more  of  him  yet,  or  of  some 
■  as  good  or  better.  I  know  I  shall  be  a  fortunate  creature 
in  the  end,  you  will  see  !     Good-by  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"What  is't  we  live  for?  toll  life's  fairest  tale  — 
To  eat,  to  drink,  to  sleep,  love,  and  enjoy, 
And  then  to  love  no  more  ! 
To  talk  of  things  we  know  not,  and  to  know 
Nothing  but  things  not  worth  the  talking  of." 

The  moon  slionc  brightly  over  the  streets  of  Potzdam  ;  tho 
shadows  of  the  evening  had  lengthened  :  night  was  fast  approach- 
ing, and  the  promenades  which  the  morning  had  gladdened  with 

the  gay  and  the  joyous,  were  now  deserted,  and  all  was  silent, 
except  when  the  carriage  wheel,  or  the  foot-fall  of  the  pedestri- 
an broke  the  stillness  of  the  hour.  A  female  figure  in  black, 
moved  quickly  over  the  pavement;  her  carriage  was  graceful 
and  the  step  elastic,  as  she  glided  with  rapidity  from  street  to 
street,  as  if  assiduous  to  gain  some  desired  point  yet  in  the  dis- 
tance. At  any  other  time,  her  lonely  and  unprotected  situation 
at  this  late  hour,  would  have  excited  terror,  but  Lydia  was  too 
much  occupied  in  brooding  over  the  ill  success  of  her  late  er- 
rand to  allow  any  other  subject  a  place  in  her  thoughts.  She 
had  undertaken  a  commission  that  was  peculiarly  painful  to  her, 
and  had  gone  a  long  distance  alone  to  solicit  the  payment  of  a 
bill,  which  had  several  times  been  urged  in  vain  on  the  part  of 
Charles,  who  was  now  too  ill  to  traverse  the  distance.  Un- 
known to  any  but  herself,  she  had  started  on  her  errand,  in  full 
anticipation  of  success,  and  pictured  to  herself  the  pleasure  of 
conveying  homeward  what  would  satisfy  the  eager  creditors  on 
the  morrow,  and  dissipate  the  gloomy  forebodings  which  threw 
their  dark  shadow  over  the  home  circle.  But  she  had  allowed 
the  first  negative  to  discourage  her.  and  turning  from  the  door 
began  her  dreary  way  homeward  disheartened,  and  vexed  with 
herself  for  the  little  moral  courage  and  strength  of  purpose  she 
had  exercised.  At  last  the  recollection  of  the  hour  urged  her 
speedy  return  to  the  little  gothic  dwelling  where  anxious  faces 
would  be  awaiting  her  arrival.  She  had  just  entered  a  road, 
and  was  passing  under  a  wall,  whose  thickly  grown  ivy  threw 
its  deep  shadow  around  her,  when  suddenly  she  paused,  as  if 
some  unseen  power  had  arrested  her,  and  instautly  stooping  to 
the  ground,  began  to  regard  intently  something  that  met  her 
gaze.  At  the  bottom  of  the  wall,  much  effaced  by  the  rain,  was 
the   remnant  of  a  placard,  which,  as  the  lamp-light  fell  upon  it, 


190  a  spinster's   story. 

bore  the  words  "  Beatrice  Sauvestre,"  and  which  were  all  that 
remained  legible. 

Concluding  it  best  not  to  mention  this  circumstance  to  Charles, 
she  again  pursued  ber  lonely  way,  and  finally  reached  her  des- 
tination, where  the  affectionate  mother  and  lively  little  Carlotta 
were  waiting  to  welcome  the  return  of  the  disappointed  girl,  and 
unite  their  efforts  in  cheering  the  drooping  spirits. 

Charles  had  stationed  himself  at  his  window  watching  for  her, 
until,  as  the  evening  closed,  and  the  shades  of  night  began  to 
fall,  he  suspected  on  what  errand  she  had  secretly  set  out,  ami 
as  he  pondered  upon  their  gloomy,  circumstances,  and  Lydia's 
anxiety  for  their  welfare,  his  thoughts  troubled  him.  Mr.  Ever- 
ett's visits  had  become  frequent,  and  he  feared  lest  their  forlorn 
situation  should  force  Lydia  to  an  allegiance,  for  which  he  con- 
sidered her  far  superior.  "  A  poor  curate,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"  and  almost  a  fanatic  at  that, —  for  half  the  time  the  man's  so  ab- 
sent that  he  doesn't  know  what  he's  about !  No,  Lydia,  I'd 
rather  you  would  die,  than  throw  yourself  away  upon  such  a 
fellow  as  he  !  "      A  gentle  tap  roused  him. 

"  Ah,  Lyddie  love,  [  knew  it  was  your  step;  and  I  can  tell 
too  by  that  countenance  of  yours  where  you  have  been,  and  what 
your  success  was  ;  1  know  very  well,  my  sweet  Lydia,  how  you 
are  imagining  me  dragged  to  prison  to-morrow  for  debt,  or  com- 
mitting suicide  for  very  desperation.  Don't  you  know  that  you 
women  always  fear  the  storm  before  the  clouds  arc  visible, 
while  we  stronger  minded  creatures  wait  until  the  rain  patters 
down  over  our  head  and  shoulders  before  we  complain.  Now 
what  have  you  to  say  to  that  V  " 

Lydia  kissed  his  pale  cheek,  and  saw  by  the  feverish  brow 
and  the  agitation  which  was  gaining  the  ascendency  over  him, 
that  he  was  either  laboring  under  mental  suffering,  or  very  ill, 
although  fur  her  sake  he  had  assumed  the  garb  of  cheerfulness; 
and  remaining  until  she  had  soothed  the  troubled  senses  into 
slumber,  left  the  fond  Charles  to  the  repose  of  sleep,  and  de- 
scended to  the  little  sitting  room  below,  where  sat  the  widow 
alone. 

She  appeared  not  to  notice  her  entrance,  and  seemed  engross- 
ed in  thought ;  at  last,  as  she  felt  Lydia's  hand  upon  her,  she 
looked  up,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  the  beloved  form  as  it 
bent  over  her  she  exclaimed, — 

"  My  own  dear  child,  there's  something  I  must  say  to  you, 
and  we  must  discuss  the  matter  to-night.  Mr.  Everett  has  been 
here  — but  it's  a  mere  proposition,  and  first  tell  me  Lydia,  if 
you  would  be  willing  to  leave  your  home,  and  go  among  stran- 
gers, when  you  knew  it  to  be  for  the  good  of  us  all  ?  " 


a  spinster's  BTOBT.  191 

"  Ma,  what  do  you  mean,  and  where  shall  I  have  to  go  ?  " 

"  To  France." 

"  ( >h,  tell  me  all  !      5Tou  know  T  will  do  anything  you  wish." 

"Well,  dear,  Mr.  Everett  has  heard  from  a  friend,  of  a  lady 
who  has  a  Large  seminary  for  young  ladies  in  the  south  of  France, 
ft  is  a  Protestant  institution  filled  mostly  with  children  from  the 
British  Isles.  A  lady  who  has  taught  there  many  years,  is  to 
leave  shortly,  and  if  we  think  favorably  of  it,  Mr  Everett  says 
there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  your  making  an  engagement  with 
the  maitresse.  Sou  see,  love,  we  have  no  prospect  of  more  pu- 
pils, and  the  few  we  now  have,  I  can  easily  teach  myself." 

At  a  late  hour  they  parted  for  the  night;  Lydia  stole  in  to 
take  a  peep  at  the  sleeping  Lottie,  then  retired  to  rest,  to  dream 
of  her  new  life  in  the  south  of  sunny  France. 

The  morning  was  bright  and  beautiful  when  Lydia  took  her 
farewell  of  those  she  loved  best,  and  accompanied  by  Mr.  Ever- 
ett, commenced  her  journey  to  France,  where  all  the  necessary 
arrangements  had  been  made  for  her  reception. 

The  tall,  thin  figure  of  the  widow  could  no  longer  be  seen, 
tlie  trees  had  hidden  the  weeping  Carlotta  from  her  view,  and 
finding  the  pale  face  of  Charles  at  the  window,  had  also  reced- 
ed from  her  earnest  gaze,  yielding  to  the  emotion  that  over- 
whelmed her,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  cloak  and  indulged  in 
a  flood  of  tears,  while  her  companion  sat  opposite  to  her,  the 
same  immovable  statue  of  patience  and  resignation.  At  last 
the  happy  temperament  of  Lydia  triumphed  over  her  grief,  and 
chiding  herself  for  her  selfishness  in  not  endeavoring  to  entertain 
her  companion,  who  it  was  evident  had  little  business  in  France 
except  to  conduct  her  safely  thither, —  as  far  as  could  be  gained 
from  the  indefinite  reasons  he  gave  —  she  aroused  herself  and 
drew  him  into  conversation.  The  cold  expression  left  his  fea- 
tures, the  rigid  muscles  relaxed,  a  smile  played  upon  the  changed 
countenance,  and  Mr.  Everett  was  an  altered  man. 

Their  route  lay  through  Brussels,  Paris,  Lyons,  and  Mar- 
seilles, near  which  city  the  seminary  was  situated  ;  and  it  was 
not  until  after  a  tedious  journey  of  five  days,  that  they  reached 
the  maision  of  Madam  de  Florigni. 

Night  had  closed  in,  and  little  could  be  seen  of  the  house  ex- 
cept that  it  appeared  a  large  mansion,  standing  back  from  the 
road,  surrounded  by  spacious  grounds,  whose  tall  trees,  and 
thick,  heavy  shrubbery  presented  a  gloomy  aspect  as  they  passed 
under  their  shadow,  the  foliage  rustling  drearily  when  the 
branches  waved  majestically  in  the  darkness.     A  domestic  an- 


192  a  spinster's  story. 

■1  their  ring,  ami  having  Been  Lydia  into  the  hall,  Mr.  Ev- 
erett extend e  1  his  hand,  and  bade  her  good-night  He  stood 
B  few  6  icon  Is,  as  if  he  would  have  said  more  ;  but  Lydia,  with 
her  usual  perception,  anxious  to  avoid  a  manifesto  in  what  she 
coul I  not  participate  with  sincevity,  hastily  thanked  him  for  his 
kindness,  then  turned  away  ;  and  when  she  looked  again  for 
the  tall,  athletic  figure,  it  was  gone. 

She  was  ushered  into  a  room  where  several  ladies  were  gath- 
ered round  a  table  variously  occupied,  while  one  appeared  read- 
ing aloud  ;  but  as  she  entered  the  book  was  closed,  and  one  or" 
tliem  as  she  rose  to  meet  Lydia,  introduced  herself  as  Madam  de 
Florigni  She  was  a  middle-aged  lady,  rather  tall,  very  corpu- 
lent, and  somewhat  commanding  in  her  appearance  ;  and  as  phe 
fixed  her  dark  eyes  upon  Lydia,  there  seemed  severity  in  the 
scrunity  of  the  glance,  which  made  the  latter  shrink  from  the 
gaze  ;  and  she  was  glad  when  the  lady  turned  from  her  to  the 
circle  at.  the  table,  whom  she  presented  as  the  teachers  of  the  in- 
stitution. They  all  arose  to  welcome  the  stranger,  and  as  Ly- 
di  i  glanced  from  one  to  another,  not  one  appeared  so  girlish  as 
herself,  and  her  courage  misgave  her  When  she  imagined  hertu- 
itionary  skill  put  to  the  test  by  the  proficients  who  now  gather- 
ed round  her. 

A  bell  was  rung,  and  refreshments  brought  in  ;  after  which 
when  they  arose  to  separate,  Madam  de  Florigni  turned  to  Ly- 
dia and  said. — 

"  On  m'a  dit  que  vous  connaissez  le  francais  et  l'ailemand, 
et  que  vous  comprenez  l'italien,  niais  com  me  j'ai  l'accasion  de 
parler  si  souvent  le  francais,  je  prefere  causer  avec  vous  toujours 
en  anglais.  Shall  I  tell  you  your  duties  to-night,  or  would  you 
rather  wait  until  the  morning'.'  "  Lydia  preferred  waiting  until 
the  morning  j  whereupon  Madam  added,  "very  well  ;  the  room 
to  which  you  will  be  shown,  you  will  share  with  (he  Italian 
teacher,  —  you  had  better  converse  with  her  in  her  own  language, 
it  will  be  practice  for  you.  Good-night ;  you  will  hear  the  bells 
in  the  morning,  please  to  be  punctual." 

One  of  the  ladies  now  led  Lydia  up  several  flights  of  stairs 
to  a  room  at  the  end  of  a  long  gallery,  where,  having  tapped  at 
the  door,  she  opened  it,  and  they  entered. 

At  a  table  under  a  window  a  young  girl  sat  writing,  who  was 
introduced  to  Lydia  as  Signorina  Susini.  She  was  rather  be- 
low the  medium  height,  with  very  sharp,  dark  eyes,  and  long 
black  hair  ;  her  complexion  was  also  very  dark,  almost  swarthy, 
but  the  features  were  small  and  regular,  and  so  animated  was 
the  expression  of  her  countenance  a*  she  came  forward  to  meet 


A    SPINSTERS     STORY.  193 

Lydia,  whoso  hand  she   took  with  avidity,  that  she   appeared 
quite  attractive. 

As  soon  as  they  were  left  to  themselves,  Signorina  resumed 
her  writing,  while  Lydia,  who  was  weary  with  her  journey,  pre- 
pared to  undress.  Presently  her  companion  closed  her  desk 
with  a  violence  that  shook  the  table  and  everything  upon  it, 
then  turning  to  her,  said  quickly, — 

"  Madam  de  Florigni  said  dat  I  speak  Italian  wid  you,  but 
I  like  better  to  talk  in  English  because  I  not  know  him  very 
well.  Besides,  I  make  never  attention  to  what  she  tell  me, 
only  when  I  am  obliged.     Do  you  like  her?  " 

"  I  am  so  tired,  that  I  seem  to  like  nothing  at  present  but  to 
go  to  sleep,"  replied  Lydia  with  a  smile. 

She  had  just  taken  up  her  Bible  to  read  when  Signorina 
threw  a  letter  into  her  lap  saying,  "  I  want  very  much  dat  you 
read  dis,  and  see  if  de  words  are  all  spelled  right,  your  English 
be  very  hard  for  foreigner." 

The  corrections  made,  Lydia  resumed  the  chapter,  during 
which  time  her  companion  continued  to  talk  sometimes  in  broken 
English,  sometimes  in  Italian,  when  she  would  appear  quite  ex- 
cited, and  often  stamped  her  foot  upon  the  floor,  while  the  little 
black  eyes  magnified  exceedingly,  and  every  limb  was  in  ges- 
ture. 

For  a  while  Lydia  was  too  much  distracted  by  her  singular 
behavior  to  think  of  anything  else,  but  at  last,  leaving  the  lit- 
tle lady  to  herself,  she  commended  herself  and  the  beloved  ones 
at  home  to  the  guardianship  of  the  Omnipotent,  and  laid  the 
aching  head  upon  her  pillow.  The  singular  behavior  of  Signor- 
ina still  continued.  Sometimes  she  took  her  letter,  and  pacing 
the  room,  read  it  aloud,  and  often  became  so  vehement,  that  Ly- 
dia was  much  frightened  ;  but  after  a  time  her  companion  be- 
came more  quiet,  and  at  last  laid  herself  upon  her  bed,  which 
she  had  wheeled  close  to  Lydia's.  The  room  was  now  still, 
and  Lydia  was  about  to  fall  into  her  first  sleep,  when  the  bed- 
stead shook  violently,  and  she  saw  Signorina  jump  from  her  bed 
while  she  exclaimed,  "  I  forgot  to  make  some  prayer  !  "  After 
kneeling  awhile  with  her  hand  buried  in  the  coverlid,  it  was 
suddenly  raised  and  she  inquired  eagerly, — 

"  Bid  you  know  dat  letter  was  to  Mr.  Gates  of  de  English 
Navy  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  notice  the  direction." 

"  Dat  is  right ;  I  don't  want  you  or  any  one  to  know.  Did 
you  know  it  was  to  a  gentleman  ?  " 

'  I  don't  remember." 
9 


19-1  \     piaster's  story. 

"  T  am  very  glad  ;  den  no  one  knows  I  write  to  a  leiutenant " 

"Do  you  keep  a  light  burning  all  night?"  seeing  she  was 
figuring  in  her  night  clothes  very  near  the  candle. 

"  Nobody  can  but  me,  I.alway  do  just  as  I  like.  But  T  see 
you  like  dere  be  no  light,  so  as  1  think  you  very  nice  I  will 
please  you.      Look  !   I  blow  him  out." 

She  now  came  to  Lydia  and  throwing  her  arms  about  her, 
held  her  as  in  a  vice,  until  she  almost  suffocated  her  ;  then  ex- 
claimed suddenly,  '*  Oh,  T  so  tired  !  and  so  you  will  be  teach- 
ing all  dose  girls;  some  of  dem  like  donkeys,  very  stupid  ones  ; 
but  good-night  !  "  and  to  Lydia's  relief  she  let  go  her  hold,  and 
returned  to  her  bed. 

The  moon  had  risen,  and  her  pale  rays  shone  peacefully  into 
the  chamber;  Lydia  had  been  so  completely  aroused  by  the  con- 
duct of  her  companion,  that  sleep  seemed  driven  from  her  eye- 
lids. Her  thoughts  began  to  wander  upon  various  subjects, 
and  Mr.  Everett  was  one  of  the  number  But  it  was  a  rule 
she  had  laid  down  for  herself,  not  to  dwell  upon  worldly  con- 
cerns after  she  had  retired  to  rest ;  and  bending  over  Signorina 
to  assure  herself  that  she  slept,  she  found  her  pillow  bedewed 
with  tears,  while  she  still  clasped  tightly  a  small  package  of  let- 
ters which  were  attached  to  a  cord  round  her  neck.  Satisfied 
that  she  was  lost  in  slumber,  although  she  still  wept,  Lydia  laid 
her  head  again  on  her  pillow,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

Suddenly  she  was  awakened  from  a  sound  slumber,  by  the 
motion  of  something  upon  her  face  and  a  rustling  noise  near 
her  bed  ;  looking  up  she  saw  a  figure  in  white  flitting  round  the 
room,  talking  in  a  low  tone,  and  shedding  a  profusion  of  tears. 
As  it  moved  towards  the  window,  the  light  of  the  moon  fell 
upon  it,  and  she  discovered  it  to  be  her  companion,  Signorina. 
She  called  to  her,  asked  what  troubled  her,  and  whether  she 
could  be  of  any  assistanc  \  but  the  same  low  murmuring  as  of 
lamentation  was  all  that  came  as  an  answer.  After  pacing  the 
room  for  some  time  she  stood  before  the  glass,  and  by  the  moon- 
light arranged  her  long  troses,  and  performed  several  little  of- 
fices of  her  todet ;  then,  taking  a  little  crucifix  and  beads,  knelt 
in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  She  arose  from  her  knees,  and  climbed 
upon  a  table  near  the  window,  still  in  her  night-clothes  ;  and 
called  several  times  upon  some  name,  each  time  waiting  as  if  to 
listen  for  a  reply;  then  threw  up  the  sash,  ami  disappeared. 

Irresolute  as  to  what  she  should  do,  Lydia  lay  motionless. 
The  time  wore  on,  and  the  night  was  wearing  away;  but  she 
neither  saw  nor  beard  any  more  of  Signorina,  although  she  kept 
her  eyes  A-:  nl  upon  the  window.     At  last   fatigue  overcame  her 


a  spinster's  story.  105 

fears,  anrl  she  fell  into  a  sound  sloop.  The  loud  ringing  of 
many  bells  awoke  her,  and  she  found  the  sun  shining  brightly 
into  the  room,  giving  it  a  more  cheerful  appearance  than  it  wore 
the  night  before.  The  birds  were  warbling  their  matin  song, 
and  the  balmy  breeze,  as  it  wafted  in  at  the  window,  seemed  to 
invigorate  the  weary  Lydia,  and  inspire  her  with  energy  for  the 
new  duties  that  awaited  her  Having  thoroughly  aroused  her- 
self she  looked  towards  her  companion's  bed,  and  there  lay  Sig- 
norina  apparently  sleeping  very  soundly  ;  but  she  had  no  soon- 
er arose,  than  that  young  lady  was  at  her  side,  and  clasping  Ly- 
dia in  her  arms,  uttered  many  passionate  exclamations  of  affec- 
tion, and  by  the  time  their  toilet  was  completed,  she  had  told  of 
her  home  in  Italy,  and 'shed  tears  when  she  expressed  a  doubt 
of  seeing  that  beautiful  land  again.  Then  brushing  away  her 
tears,  she  exclaimed, — 

"  Oh,  let  me  tell  you  while  I  think  of  it.  You  need  not 
make  much  prayer  up  here,  for  you  wdl  have  to  do  some  more 
down  stairs,  bote  for  yourself  and  every  one  else  ;  you  will  see." 
Lydia  did  not  well  understand  her,  but  soon  another  bell  rang 
and  Signorina  led  the  way  down  to  the  breakfast  room,  or  rath- 
er it  was  a  large  hall,  where  some  sixty  or  seventy  girls  were 
seated  at  a  lon<r  table  down  the  centre,  and  arranged  according 
to  their  height,  while  every  here  and  there  one  of  the  ladies  who 
bad  formed  the  circle  the  night  before  intervened,  and  broke 
the  precision  of  the  rank. 

Madame  de  Florigni  called  Lydia  to  her  at  the  head  of  the 
long  table,  and  rising  said,  as  she  looked  with  her  piercing 
black  eyes  down  the  rows  of  girls  before  her,  "  Mademoiselle 
Villiers,  mesdemoiselles,"  whereupon  every  one  arose,  and  every 
eye  was  fixed  upon  Lydia.  The  morning  devotions  were  now 
begun  ;  one  of  the  ladies  presided  at  an  organ  at  the  end  of 
the  hall,  while  the  pslams  for  the  day  were  chanted,  and  the 
music  was  altogether  artistically  executed.  During  these  exer- 
cises, Madame  de  Florigni  called  unceremoniously  upon  the  differ- 
ent instructresses  for  an  extemporary  prayer,  a  duly  to  which 
poor  Lydia  looked  forward  with  tear  and  trembling. 

Breakfast  over,  lessons  began.  Madame  was  a  very  rigid 
disciplinarian,  and  as  she  gave  Lydia  a  closely  written  schedule 
which  contained  her  list  of  duties  for  that  day  of  the  week,  the 
principal  requirements  seemed  in  regard  to  preserving  the  strict 
order  of  her  establishment. 

First,  they  walked,  which  Lydia  enjoyed  very  much,  then  it 
was  her  task  at  nine  o'clock  to  sit  by  a  piano  where  girls  from 
five  to  fifteen  came  to  practice,  and   listen  to  the   drumming  of 


196  a  spinster's   story. 

scales  and  exercises  until  one  o'clock,  when  tlicy  dined;  after 
which  she  was  occupied  with  hooks  till  five  o'clock,  at  which 
hour  a  hell  was  heard  with  great  rejoicing,  and  luniks  and  music 
were  laid  aside  for  the  present.  The  work  of  most  of  the  teach- 
ers was  now  ended,  but  as  soon  as  they  returned  from  their 
evening  walk,  Lydia  found  much  to  employ  her  for  at  least  two 
hours.  The  Wardrobes  and  laundry  of  thirty  girls  must  he 
thoroughly  inspected,  to  sec  that  they  mended  their  clothes  and 
darned  their  stockings,  when  loud  groans  and  sighs  ofien  re- 
sounde  I  through  the  long  rooms,  ami  to  lessen  the  woful  lamen- 
tation, Lydia  was  soinetim  >s  glad  to  assist  in  the  work.  Then, 
after  tea,  it  was  her  task  to  see  that  lessons  were  learned  for  the 
following  day,  which  occupied  until  nine,  when  the  bell  rang 
for  prayers,  and  after  good-night  had  been  said,  there  was  a  lapse 
of  twenty  minutes;  then  Lydia  must  go  to  the  sleeping  cham- 
bers and  report  any  young  lady  who  was  not  in  bed  previous  to 
tin1  extinction  of  their  light.  And  now  a  scene  of  confusion, 
and  earnest  entreaties  for  a  prolongation  of  the  lantern.  And 
at  last  Lydia's  duties  for  one  day  were  at  an  end.  The  teachers 
now  followed  Madame  de  Florigui  into  her  parlor,  where  an 
hour  was  pleasantly  passed  in  choice  literature,  music  etc.,  but 
Lydia,  who  had  been  suffering  from  fatigue  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  day,  was  not  sorry  when  they  rose  to  separate,  and 
although  the  idea  of  passing  another  night  with  the  singular 
Signorina  was  exceedingly  painful  to  her,  still  she  was  glad  to 
seek  the  retirement  of  her  room. 

On  entering,  she  found  her  companion  seated  on  the  floor  in 
a  corner,  with  something  in  her  lap,  which  she  instantly  conceal- 
ed, and  jumping  up,  ran  into  a  closet.  Lydia  now  opened  the 
window  to  assure  herself  that  it  was  a  piazza  or  balcony  on  to 
which  Signorina  had  gone  when  she  left  the  room  the  night  be- 
fore ;  but  to  her  astonished  gaze,  there  was  only  the  roof  of  a 
piazza,  whose  slanting  structure,  as  it  was  without  railing  of  any 
kind,  was  frightfully  precipitous  ;  and  how  the  girl  could  sustain 
herself  in  such  a  situation  she  could  not  imagine.  "Was  she  in 
her  right  mind  or  not?  And  why  had  she  not  informed  Mad- 
ame de  Florigui  who  certainly  could  not  be  aware  of  such  pro- 
ceedings ?  Suddenly  there  came  a  tap  upon  her  shoulder;  and 
forgetting  her  thoughts,  she  turned  from  the  window,  when  Sig- 
norina handed  her  a  letter,  saying  at  the  same  time,  "  Oh,  Miss 
Villiers,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  —  it  is  a  rule  of  Madame's  to  have 
de  housekeeper  examine  every  trunk  dat  come  in  her  house ; 
and  de  woman  has  much  headache,  and  asked  me  do  it  for  her  : 
so  just  give  me  your  keys, — I  be  very  little  while." 


a  spinster's  story.  197 

Lydia  stoo  1  for  a  moment  as  though  she  had  not  comprehend- 
ed the  purport  of  her  words,  then  calmly  BUFren  lere  1  h  sr  keys, 
and  sat  down  to  read  Charles'  letter,  while  Signorina  continued 
to  throw  out  upon  the  floor  th  i  various  articles  the  wi  low  had 
so  carefully  packed,  then  tossed  them  back  again, —  all  the  while 
expressing  the  disagrceability  of  her  task. 

In  his  letter,  Charles  mentioned  that  he  had  received  one 
from  Alfred,  stating  that  Anna  would  be  married  on  the  mor- 
row to  Mr.  Barrow. 

"  Oh  my  clear  Miss  Villiers,"  interrupted  Signorina,  "  I  must 
trouble  you  so  ve>*y  much,  I  never  can  rest  to-night  unless  dat 
I  copy  dat  song  you  sang  us  to-day,  because  it  is  de  favorite  of 
me,  I  never  hear  it  in  my  own  language  since  I  leave  la  bella, 
Italia.  I  am  so  very  sorry  it  is  at  de  bottom  of  de  house,  but 
if  I  no  do  it  to-night  I  forget  it." 

Lydia  went  in  search  of  the  music  though  rather  relunctantly, 
and  when  she  returned,  her  things  were  all  put  away  an  I  the 
trunks  locked ;  in  a  corner  stood  Signorina  mixing  something 
in  a  tumbler,  which,  upon  seeing  Lydia,  she  immediately  offered 
to  her,  saying,  "You  so  very  kind  to  me,  do  let  me  give  you  de 
last  draught  I  have;  it  very  good  when  one  is  tired,  do  please 
drink  it." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  always  forget  dose  English  names !  Drink  it  and 
see." 

She  was  exceedingly  annoying  when  anxious  to  have  anything 
accomplish^  I,  ami  as  she  held  the  glass  to  the  lips  of  Lydia,  the 
lalter  thinking  to  pacify  her  by  tasting  the  contents,  was  about 
to  take  a  little,  when  Signorinia  dextrously  poured  the  whole 
contents  down  the  throat,  of  her  victim  ;  then,  -manifesting  more 
vivacity  than  before,  insiste  I  upon  performing  the  office  of  maid 
to  the  weary  Lydia. 

"Tell  me  from  whom  dat  letter  what  come  to  you  to-day? 
said  she,  as  she  continued  to  loop  up  her  hair  in  a  style  she  pro- 
nounce I  to  be  purely  Neapolitan. 

"From  Charles,"  replied  Lydia,  with  a  rougish  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  guessed  dat  before,  because  you  seem  very  much 
glad  ;   I  suppose  you  love  him  very  great  deal  ?  " 

''Because  he  loves  me  so  much." 

"  Ah,  so  dem  tell  you,  but  it  be  very  hard  matter  to  know 
if  dem  say  true. .  And  do  you  not  feel  very  unhappy  because 
you  no  see  him  now  ?  " 

"  He  thinks  of  being  this  way,  and  will  call." 

"  Oh,  dat  never  do  at  all !  "  and  her  countenance  was  the 


198  a  spixstee's  story. 

expression  of  alarm.  "  Madame  will  be  a  tiger  if  any  gentle- 
ni  ms  com  ■  td  de  house  for  see  de  young  ladies.  All  de  teach- 
ers are  olil  maids,  and  see  what  old,  grey  professors  always  come 
here,  80  dal  none  of  do  girls  can  run  away  wid  dem.  Now  I 
will  tell  you  do  only  way  we  are  able  to  see  one  gentleman,  and 
you  must  write  him  dat  he  do  de  same  ;  he  must  come  in  at  de 
window.  Listen  !  But  you  are  too  tired  to  hear  de  plan  now, 
an  I  you  will  not  tink  much  more  of  him  to-night,  {'or  dat  draught 
I  give  you  will  soon  make  you  forget  everyting  and  go  to  sleep." 

A  i  I  Lydia  wis  nearly  asleep,  until  these  last  words  fell  from 
Signorina,  which  roused  her  not  a  little.  Perhaps  there  was 
some  design  in  forcing  the  draught  upon  her  ;  the  fear  of  falling 
asleep  ke.pt  her  wide  awake,  and  determining  to  acquaint  Mad- 
ame de  Florigni  with  the  case,  she  lay  perfectly  still  to  watch 
the  proceedings  of  the  strange  Signorina. 

Tnis  night  she  seemed  perfectly  composed,  and  although  she 
wept  much,  her  grief  was  calm,  and  her  tears  as  those  of  some 
deep  sorrow  rather  than  the  impulse  of  a  wild  and  passionate 
emotion.  The  compassionate  heart  of  Lydia  was  instantly  touch- 
e  1  ;  she  arose  and  endeavored  to  console  the  afflicted  girl.  She 
■seemed  overcome  by  the  kindness,  and  after  many  expressions 
of  her  gratitude,  added  "  You  could  never  comfort  me,  but  by 
doing  what  is  very  difficult." 

"  I  will  do  it  if  I  can." 

"  But  you  would  not  come  down  to  de  garden." 

"  Yet  what  benefit  could  that  be  to  you?  " 

"  Oh  I  want  more  air  !  Only  I  cannot  go  alone  ;  de  great, 
tall  trees  make  me  frightened." 

'■  Then  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Lydia  ;  and  hastily  dressing 
she  followed  her  down  a  sort  of  back  staircase  that  led  to  the 
grounds  Signorina  appeared  well  acquainted  with  every  bolt 
ami  lock,  and  before  long  they  found  themselves  in  the  broad 
extent  of  the  lonely  grounds. 

''  Dis  way,"  said  Signorina,  as  she  clung  nervously  to  Lydia, 
and  insisted  upon  going  quickly  to  the  middle  of  the  garden. 
They  hid  not  proceeded  far,  when  she  suddenly-  stopped. 
"  What's  dat !  don't  you  see  a  man  behind  de  tree  ?  " 

lier  excited  mann  'rasshe  proceeded  a  few  steps,  then  darted 
back  again,  alarmed  Lydia,  and  while  she  stood  considering  the 
best  way  to  control  her,  she  ran  towards  her  saying,  "  Oh,  I  was 
SO  foohsb  !  it  is  no  one  ;  "  and  her  laugh  echoed  again,  as  she 
caught  the  clothing  of  Lydia,  and  hurried  her  to  the  end  of  the 
grounds,  which  opened  into  a  lane  leading  to  one  of  the  pub- 
lic streets. 


a  spinster's  story.  199 

"  Now  dis  way,"  whispered  Signorina  as  she  took  a  key  from 
her  pocket,  and  unlocked  the  gal  •. 

"  Why  so?  The  air  is  as  refreshing  here  ;  do  you  not  feel 
well  enough  to  return  V  it  is  very  late  now." 

"  Bat  I  have  come  on  purpose  1"  see  some  one.  Oh  Mad- 
ame would  kill  us  if  she  knew  we  here  at  dis  time  of  de  night." 

"  Do  pray  come  back  !  "  and  Lydia  endeavored  to  extricate 
herself  from  the  nervous  grasp  of  her  companion,  who  was  in  the 
act  of  i [rawing  her  into  the  lane. 

"  Only  come  wid  me  to  de  end,  and  I  come  back  dat  very 
minute"  She  hurried  on  ;  and  Lydia,  afraid  to  leave  her  to 
herself,  followed,  continually  entreating  her  to  return,  as  the 
lane  seemed  interminable,  and  the  poor  girl  more  excited  the 
further  they  proceeded.  At  last  they  readied  the  street,  where 
several  pedestrians  were  seen  in  the  distance. 

"  Now,"  cried  Signorina,  as  in  a  state  of  ecstacy  she  clung  to 
Lydia,  "  when  dey  come  dis  way,  see  if  one  gentleman  be  very 
dark  and  tall,  wid  large  whiskers,  for  my  eyes  are  so  very  bad. 

The  figure  of  a  man  now  drew  near,  and  Lydia  endeavored 
to  draw  her  companion  from  the  street,  but  as  soon  as  he  ap- 
proached, Signorina  went  up  to  him  and  clasping  the  skirts  of 
his  coat  exclaiming  "  Oh  I  so  glad  you  are  come  !  Oh  no  !  it 
is  not  you  !  "  and  she  darted  away  from  him.  He  stood  and 
looked  after  her  as  if  in  profound  amazement.  Startled  at  the 
mistake  she  had  made,  she  ran  swiftly  down  the  lane,  and  Ly- 
dia soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  they  were  safe  within 
the  limits  of  the  garden.  "  I  will  stay  no  longer  ;  "  said  she, 
as  she  saw  Signorina  looking  again  in  the  direction  of  the  road. 
She  made  no  answer,  but  suffered  herself  to  be  led  into  the 
house.  On  reaching  their  room,  her  tears  flowed  afresh  and 
sinking  upon  the  floor,  she  exclaimed  in  an  agony  of  despair, 
''  Oh,  he  never  keeps  his  promise  !  I  wish  1  could  die  !  " 

After  much  persuasion,  she  took  her  little  rosary,  and  having 
performed  her  devotions,  lay  down  to  rest.  Lydia  sat  beside 
her  and  read  several  passages  from  an  Italian  Testament,  until 
she  was  assured  the  unhappy  Signorina  was  soundly  asleep. 

For  a  long  time  Lydia  lay  awake,  fearing  to  close  her  eyes, 
lest  she  should  fall  into  slumber.  But  at  last  weary  nature  de- 
manded her  due,  and  the  anxious  watcher  fell  into  a  sweet  sleep. 

A  sound  awoke  her,  and  looking  up  she  saw  Signorina  was 
leaving  her  bed  ;  alarmed  as  she  thought  of  what  her  intentions 
might  be  at  th  it  dead  hour  of  the  night,  she  lay  still  while  the 
strange  girl  continued  dressing.  A  suspicion  suddenly  flashed 
across   the   mind  of  Lydia ;  she  arose  swiftly  and  approached 


200  A    SPIXSTERS    STORY. 

her ;  moving  noiselessly  in  front  of  her,  she  at  last  hail  a  full 
view  of  her  face  ;  bat  lo  !  the  eyes  were  wide  open  an  1  fixed 
upon  vacancy — the  truth  was  confirmed,  Signorina  was  a  som- 
nambulist. Knowing  it  to  he  dangerous  to  awake  such,  and 
trembling  fur  the  safety  of  the  poor  creature,  she  took  a  seat 
and  watched  her,  while  with  perfect  readiness  she  found  every- 
thing as  she  needed  it, —  stood  before  the  mirror  and  arranged 
the  long  black  tresses,  and  completed  her  toilet  with  the  same 
exactness  as  though  she  had  been  fully  conscious  ;  then  wound 
up  her  watch,  threw  on  her  bonnet  and  mantle,  opened  the  win- 
dow—  and  was  gone.  Lytlia  still  watched,  but  the  figure  of 
Signorina  soon  disappeared  from  the  roof  of  the  balcony,  while, 
as  by  some  magic  power,  she  descended  from  one  piazza  to  an- 
other until  she  reached  the  garden,  through  which  she  passed 
with  an  astonishing  rapidity,  opened  the  gate  and  proceeded  down 
the  lane  in  the  direction  of  the  street  beyond. 

In  agony,  Lydia  long  kept  her  vigil  at  the  window,  but  noth- 
ing more  could  be  seen  of  Signorina.  At  length  extreme  wea- 
riness overcame  her,  and  she  fell  into  a  sound  slumber.  A  foot 
upon  her  shoulder  startled  her,  and  there  was  the  return  of  the 
wanderer,  who  entered,  closed  the  window  and  retired  to  her. 
bed.  But  to  Lydia,  whose  mind  was  disturbed  and  restless, 
her  pillow  was  one  of  little  repose,  and  the  morning  found  her 
but  little  refreshed. 

The  bell  for  prayers  had  rung,  and  accompanied  by  Signorina, 
whose  appearance  evinced  nothing  unusual,  Lydia  was  descend- 
ing the  stairs,  when  a  hand  was  extended  to  her,  and  some  one 
inquired  in  a  kindly  tone,  that  sunk  into  a  low  whisper  "How 
do  you  rest  in  that  room,  Miss  Villiers, —  does  your  companion 
ever  disturb  youV  " 

It  was  a  benevolent  face,  and  as  Lydia  drew  her  aside,  and 
communicated  the  facts,  her  agitation  seemed  to  touch  the  feel- 
ings of  the  lady,  who  replied,  "  You  shall  not  occupy  that  room 
another  night.  Poor  Signorina  !  She  desired  we  should  keep 
it  a  secret,  or  Madame  would  send  her  away.  It  was  I  who 
arranged  for  you  to  share  her  room,  for  I  thought  as  you  were 
young,  you  would  sleep  soundly,  and  not  be  disturbed.  For- 
give me ;  today  you  shall  change  your  apartment." 

It  was  done  ;  and  the  rest  of  Lydia  was  no  longer  broken. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"On  n'est  jamais  si  heureux,  ni  si  malheurcux  qn'on  sc  l'imaginc," 

"  Good-morning,  Kate,"  said  Miss  Pykc,  "  I  suppose  }Tou 
have  heard  we're  to  have  a  wedding  to  morrow  !  " 

"Oh  yes,  indeed,  for  [can  think  of  nothing  else;  and  al- 
though I  blame  her  very  much,  still  I  do  pity  her." 

"  Bat  my  dear,  you  see  Anna  is  poor,  and  it  is  always  the 
best  tiling  for  a  poor  girl,  you  know.'' 

"  Vou  may  think  so;  I'd  rather  pick  up  stones  in  the  street, 
or  beg  from  one  door  to  another,  than  tolerate  such  a  horrid 
old  hypocrite.  Nothing  can  make  me  believe  he  is  innocent  of 
that  crime." 

"  Bat  a  man  confessed  to  it,  and  has  been  tried  and  con- 
demned !  " 

'■  It  makes  no  difference,  I  still  believe  him  guilty.  Oh  how 
does  Anna  seem,  now  the  crisis  is  so  near  ?  " 

"  Well,  of  course,  Kate,  it  cannot  be  very  agreeable  to  marry 
a  fellow  for  whom  you  have  a  perfect  abhorrence  ;  yet  I  sup- 
pose when  it  is  all  over,  the  poor  girl  will  feel  resigned  to  her 
miserable  fate ;  but  don't  forget  it's  to  be  at  twelve  o'clock  to- 
morrow at  the  church, —  I  think  it  will  be  quite  a  handsome  af- 
fair." 

"  Oh,  but  it  would  never  do  for  me  to  be  present  at  the  cer- 
emony, to  look  at  him  is  more  than  I  can  bear ;  besides,  I'm 
afraid  that  in  the  midst  of  it,  I  might  scream  out,  or  do  some- 
thing desperate.  And  without  waiting  for  another  remark  from 
Miss  Fyke,  she  left  her  where  she  had  met  her,  and  turned 
down  a  street  in  an  opposite  direction. 

"  Yes,  to-morrow  !  "  said  Anna,  as  she  stood  before  her  bri- 
dal array,  which,  like  so  many  pageants  were  awaiting  to  act 
their  part  in  the  tragic  scene.  The  great  end  of  the  sacrifice 
was  already  achieved,  for  Alfred  now  occupied  a  prominent  po- 
sition in  the  Exchange,  but  the  bribe,  the  price  thereof,  must 
be  paid  —  to-morrow. 

Morning  dawned  ;  and    Anna   who    had  passed   a   sleepless 

night,  arose  from  her  couch,  which  long  ago   had  cease  1  to  be 

one  of  repose.      She  stood  a  moment  as  if  to  remember  whether 

her  sufferings  were  real  or  not ;  a  clock  struck  the  hour,  she 

9* 


202  a  spixster's    story. 

started,  and  proceeded  to  dress.  She  saw  that  her  door  was  se- 
cure, that  she  was  alone,  with  none  but  the  eye  of  the  Omni- 
present  to  look  upon  her,  and  she  knelt  —  but  the  words  of 
prayer  came  not  to  the  troubled  senses,  yet  though  unable  to 
frame  the  petition,  the  endeavor,  and  even  the  altitude  of  the 
suppliant  calmed  the  agitated  spirit,  and  seemed  to  strengthen 
her  for  the  coming  trial.  She  arose,  and  opened  her  door;  the 
Bound  of  sub  lued  sobbing  fell  upon  her  car,  she  listened,  it  was 
a  familiar  voice,  and  so  accustomed  was  she  to  attend  the  sum- 
mons, that  she  instinctively  ascended  the  stairs  leading  to  Al- 
fred's room,  when  the  sound  became  nearer  and  nearer,  until, 
reaching  the  little  chamber  she  found  Alfred  prostrated  upon 
the  floor,  indulging  in  the  most  violent  grief.  She  endeavored 
to  console  him,  and  as  she  raised  the  drooping  head,  suffering 
was  depicted  in  every  lineament  of  the  fine  countenance.  "  Oh 
Anna  !  "  escaped  him  as  he  threw  his  arms  about  her  neck,  and 
they  wept  together  ;  —  to  Anna  who  had  not  shed  tears  for  many 
days  it  was  a  relief. 

'•  What  in  the  world  do  you  two  do  here  ?  Any  one  would 
suppose  you  had  borrowed  a  paralytic  stroke  from  the  miserable 
old  Barrow.  Come  down  stairs  and  don't  act  in  such  a  ridicu- 
lous manner  any  longer.  You  frightened  the  very  wits  out  of 
me,  as  you  have  often  done  before.  If  the  world  were  coming 
to  an  end  you  could  not  make  a  greater  ado.  But  come  along, 
don't  keep  me  waiting  here  !  " 

On  entering  the  dining-room,  they  might  have  observed,  had 
they  not  been  too  pre-occupied,  that  the  table  was  this  morning 
embellished  with  many  dainties  and  luxuries,  which  had  not 
honore  I  it  for  many  a  long  day,  if  ever  before  ;  and  also  that 
Mrs.  Gilbert  herself  had  been  up  betimes,  and  arrayed  herself 
in  a  m>st  remarkably  singular  costume,  to  do  further  honor  to 
the  occasion.  But  the  thoughts  of  the  brother  and  sister  were 
too  much  engrossed  for  these  to  call  their  attention,  until  Mrs. 
Gilbert,  who  appeared  very  assiduous  of  gaining  the  favor  of 
Alfred,  continued  to  press  them  to  partake  of  some  of  the  rari- 
ties before  them,  when  Anna  seemed  to  awake  suddenly  as  if 
from  a  dream,  and  turning  to  the  old  lady  while  a  faint,  sad 
smile  played  over  the  pale  countenance,  she  took  the  hand  of 
Mrs  Gidtert,  and  expressed  her  gratitude  for  the  kind  attention, 
at  which  the  poor  old  lady,  most  probably  from  the  fatigueoc- 
casioned  by  the  turmoil  in  which  Susan  had  kept  the  house  dur- 
ing the  last  few  days,  shed  tears,  which,  great  as  her  sorrow 
might  have  been,  must  have  thrown  a  sort  of  oblivion  over  her 
plate  as  they  fell  into  it,  for  though  no  one   else   ate,  she  did 


A  spinster's  STOIU'.  203 

most  amazingly,  apparently  forgetting  that  everything  of  which 
she  partook,  was  nol  the  first  of  it  she  had  eaten  that  morning. 
Snsan  .seemed  in  too  great  a  haste  to  see  the  end  of  that  morn- 
ing, to  allow  herself  to  partake  of  the  good  dungs  for  which  at 
any  other  time  she  would  have  manifested  too  great  an  appetite 
for  the  well -ili ling  of  the  rest  of  the  family  ;  so  that  she  soon 
pronounced  the  meal  at  an  end,  much  to  the  discomfiture  of  the 
old  lady,  who  seemed  to  fear,  were  the  dainties  left  untouched, 
they  might  suddenly  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  famisheddooking 
Judy,  who  figured  behind  her  chair,  attired  most  fantastically 
in  some  of  the  cast-off  wardrobe  of  her  mistress,  Susan. 

A  bell  rang,  and  Susan,  who  thought  it  very  probable  that 
th  •  French  hair-dresser  should  make  a  miscalculation  and  come 
two  h  turs  before  his  time,  hastily  left  the  table.  Alfred  arose, 
and  leaning  over  Anna,  who  was  staring  into  vacancy,  exclaim- 
ed as  he  locked  his  arms  round  her  neck,  "  Oh,  Anna,  my  own 
sweet  sister.  I  know  I  could  not  bear  to  be  present —  I  am  very 
sorry  to  leave  you  by  yourself,  but  I  could  never  control  my 
feelings,  ami  for  worlds  I  would  not  make  you  more  conspicuous 
—  But  I  will  come  again  to  you  when  it  is  all  over."  And  he 
burst  into  a  fresh  flood  of  tears.  "  Oh  Anna,  Anna  !  If  some- 
thing could  only  be  done  —  Oh,  if  father  could  only  come  now 
before  twelve  o'clock  —  and  indeed,  Anna,  I  have  prayed  as  I 
never  did  before,  and  who  knows  but  that  it  may  be  answered 
even  at  the  very  extremity?  And  yet  we  have  not  three  hours 
to  hope.  Oh  Anna,  may  God  bless  you  and  save  you  from  this 
awful  calamity  !  "  And  again  kissing  the  cold  cheek,  he  flew 
up  stairs,  and  locked  himself  in  the  solitude  of  his  little  chamber. 

Anna  stood  in  her  room  to  take  a  last  survey  of  the  small 
apartment  in  which  she  had  passed  many  weary  hours  during  so 
many  years.  Everything  seemed  to  speak,  as  she  looked  upon 
them  for  the  last  time,  and  when  her  eye  fell  upon  the  vacancy 
over  t'ae  fire-place,  she  remembered  that  there  was  one  object  in 
her  new  home,  that  she  could  love  —  her  mother's  portrait;  and 
it  seemed  in  a  degree  to  reconcile  her  to  the  house.  Yet  a  feel- 
ing of  home  pervaded  this  little  chamber  in  which  she  now  stood, 
whose  power  she  could  not  resist.  How  often  when  a  child  had 
she  poured  out  her  heart  there  by  herself,  and  here  too,  she 
would  often  resort  to  breathe  a  prayer  for  herself  or  for  Alfred. 
But  now  she  must  leave  it  to  take  up  her  abode  in  that  house 
from  which  her  soul  revolted.  It  was  a  time  again  to  kneel, 
and  seeking  pardon  for  all  moments  lost  or  misspent  within  its 
walls,  she  pleaded  for  grace  to  discharge  aright  the  duties  of  the 
future. 


204  a  spinster's  story. 

The  door  was  shaken  violently,  and  a  very  familiar  voice  ex- 
claimed in  a  loud  tone, — 

"  Come,  Anna,  it's  time  to  dress  !  Sally  Pyke  is  here,  and 
the  French  hair  dresser  has  come.      Make  haste  !  " 

Anna  had  do  sooner  opened  her  door,  than  she  was  dragged 
rather  than  Led  by  the  impatient  Susan  to  her  rotfm,  where  a 
meagre  little  Frenchman  sat  looking  out  from  a  window,  while 
in  another  corner  Miss  Pyke  was  busily  occupied  arranging  a 
head-dress  of  black  velvet  and  sun-flowers,  upon  the  crown  of 
Mrs.  Gilbert,  although  the  poor  old  lady  declared  she  was  al- 
ready sweltered  under  the  weight  of  it.  Miss  Pyke,  however, 
paid  no  attention  to  the  sighing  of  her  victim,  but  pronounced 
her  "  fit  to  be  seen,"  and  marched  to  the  window  to  display 
before  the  astonished  eyes  of  the  little  Frenchman  a  costume 
which  must  have  reminded  him  of  Joseph's  coat,  had  he  ever 
heard  of  such  a  garment.  There  was  an  under  skirt  of  silk 
which,  in  by-gone  days,  was  most  probably  called  yellow,  over 
which  was  a  shorter  of  red  gauze,  and  upon  this,  white  and  black 
lace  festooned  with  ribbons  of  every  hue.  Then  a  bodice  of 
green  velvet  enlaced  by  a  blue  and  silver  cord,  adorned  the 
waist;  and  lace  which  appeared  to  have  been  laid  aside  for  sev- 
eral centuries,  covered  the  neck  and  arms,  while  to  a  head-dress 
of  crimson  beads  was  attached  a  white  veil  that  reached  to  the 
floor.  But  Susan,  for  whom  the  dress-makers  and  milliners  had 
been  busily  occupied  for  many  weeks,  was  less  singularly  at- 
tired. A  dress  of  a  rich  pink  watered  silk  that  fitted  well  the 
round,  corpulent  figure,  was  covered  with  a  fall  of  costly  lace, 
and  although  in  accordance  with  her  own  orders,  the  little 
Frenchman  had  braided  her  hair  much  in  the  form  of  two  wings, 
still  as  her  veil  was  quite  small  her  costume  was  altogether  less 
absurd  than  that  of  her  friend. 

"  Now  Anna,  sit  down  here,"  and  Susan  pushed  a  chair  to- 
wards her,  "and  Anna,  keep  upright,  and  Mr.  What's-his-name 
wdl  begin."  As  she  spoke,  she  glanced  at  the  hair-dresser,  who 
immediately  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  was  soon  at  the  side  of  An- 
na, loosening  the  flaxen  tresses  which  from  long  neglect  had 
giown  to  a  considerable  length.  At  last  the  expert  little  fingers 
of  the  Frenchman  had  arranged  the  hair  to  the  entire  satisfac- 
tion of  the  two  who  stood  watching  every  movement,  and  the 
robe  of  white  tarletan  was  put  on.  The  long  lace  veil  had  been 
most  tastefully  trimmed  with  orange  blossoms  by  the  women, 
and  attached  to  a  small  wreath  of  white  roses  which  was  now 
adjusted  upon  the  drooping  head,  the  gloves  put  on,  and  the 
whole  trousseau  completed. 


A    SPIXSTERS     STORY.  205 

"  Susan,"  said  Miss  Pyke  in  a  low  tone,  as  she  fixed  her  eyes 
upon  Anna,  "  what  do  you  think  of  her?  It  .seems  to  me  her 
mind  is  giving  way,  and  L'm  afraid  we're  both  committing  a  sin 
that  we  shall  have  to  answer  for  !  " 

'•  Nonsense  !  What  a  poor  nervous  thing  you  are.  Let  us 
give  her  some  wine  and  bathe  her  head  with  cologne  !  " 

The  cup  was  held  to  her  lips,  and  Anna  drank  The  two 
took  her  between  them,  Mrs.  Gilbert  followed  behind,  and  they 
descended  to  the  parlor 

Several  guests  were  seated  in  the  room,  and  as  the  group  en- 
tered, every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  costume  of  Miss  Pyke,  but 
it  was  only  fur  a  moment,  then  all  present  gazed  intently  upon 
the  marble  countenance  of  Anna,  so  truly  suggestive  of  the 
words, 

"  I  wore  my  bridal  robe,  but  I  rivalled  its  whiteness," 

while  the  settled  expression  of  intense  suffering  was  vividly  de- 
picted in  every  feature  ;  but  the  large,  blue  eyes  were  staring 
into  vacancy,  and  she  appeared  wholly  indifferent  to  everything 
passing  around  her.  Very  little  was  said,  except  in  whispers 
one  to  another,  a3  they  commented  upon  the  remarkable  ap- 
pearance of  Anna.  Miss  Pyke,  seated  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
employed  the  time  in  arranging  the  veil  which  she  drew  round 
herself,  until  only  her  face  remained  uncovered,  then  as  if  ex- 
hausted by  the  exertion,  reclined  in  the  large  arm  chair,  and 
fanned  herself  with  indefatigable  assiduity,  while  Susan  station- 
ed herself  at  a  window  watching  impatiently  for  Mr.  Barrow's 
carriage,  which,  according  to  appointment,  was  to  convey  the 
mother  and  son  hither  to  meet  the  bride  elect  previous  to  their 
departure  for  the  church. 

••  What  can  keep  the  tiresome  old  creature  !  "  escaped  her  as 
she  turned  to  Miss  Pyke. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  know  he  is  subject  tb  the  spasms,  and 
most  probably  a  sudden  fit  of  them  has  detained  him  ;  or  per- 
haps his  gout  is  so  much  worse  to-day,  that  he  cannot  be  lifted 
into  his  carriage  ;  certainly  one  of  the  thousand  ailments  of  the 
poor  little  man  has  prevented  his  coming." 

'■  No  such  thing.  Sally  Pyke,"  returned  Susan,  forgetting  in 
her  vehemence  tb  it,  there  were  several  guests  present.  "  Here's 
t'le  carriage  !  Yes,  now  he  is  coming."  And  as  she  finished 
speaking,  it  drove  up  to  the  door. 

Mrs.  Barrow  was  assisted  up  the  steps,  and  into  the  parlor. 

"  But  where' s  he  ?  "  began  Susan,  without  regarding  the  hand 
of  the  old  lady  which  was  extended  towards  her. 


206  a  spinster's  story. 

Whv  hasn't  he  come  ?  You're  no  use  without  him.  What's 
the  matter  ?     Make  haste  and  tell  ma !  " 

As  well  aa  her  infirmities  permitted,  the  poor  old  lady  totter- 
ed to  a  seat,  Susan  took  her  stand  before  her,  and  demanded  a 
speedy  account  of  her  son's  absence.  But  the  more  Susan 
hastened  liar  to  tell,  the  more  confused  she  became  ;  and  the 
clock  struck  one  before  they  could  understand  that  the  little 
gentleman  had  started  early  the  previous  day  for  New  York,  to 
solicit  the  services  of  an  old  schoolmate  as  groomsman. 

"  Well,"  said  Susan,  "  I  never  heard  of  anything  like  it,  and 
yet  I  might  have  known  the  stupid  old  fellow  would  be  sure  to 
make  some  outrageous  blunder  !  " 

"  But  my  dear  Susan,"  and  Miss  Pyke  tapped  her  on  the 
shoulder  with  her  fan,  "  don't  you  think  it  probable  that  Mr. 
Barrow,  when  he  found  himself  belated,  went  immediately  to 
the  church,  and  is  waiting  there  for  us  V" 

"  Very  true,  Sally  Pyke  ;  he  is  without  doubt  at  the  church, 
parson  and  all,  awaiting  our  appearance.     Let  us  go  !     But 
where's  your  father?  doesn't  he  understand   that  he  is  to  give, 
Anna  away?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear ;  and  I  left  him  shaving  for  the  occasion. 
See,  there  ha  is  sitting  on  the  stairs."  She  then  turned  to  the 
white-headed  old  gentleman,  and  continued,  "  come,  father, 
we're  going  ;  oh,  you  only  fancy  you  have  the  rheumatism,  make 
haste  !  " 

Susan  and  Miss  Pyke  again  took  Anna  between  them,  and 
led  her  down  the  steps  to  the  carriage,  into  which  they  lifted 
her,  then  pushed  rather  than  placed  Mr.  Pyke  into  the  scat  op- 
posite her,  and  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the  church. 
The  two  bridemiids  entered  the  next  carriage,  the  two  old  ladies 
the  third,  a  few  others  followed,  and  the  procession  arrived  at 
the  door  of  the  sacred  edifice. 

A  crowd  thronged  the  pavement,  as  the  news  that  the  singu- 
lar Barrow  would  «iow  be  married,  had  spread  like  wild-fire,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  all  the  neighborhood  had  gathered  to  learn 
the  truth  of  the  report. 

The  two  bridemaids  alighted. 

"  Where  is  Anna  .'  "  inquired  Susan,  looking  haughtily  upon 
the  crowd  of  bystanders.     ''  Sally,  where's  your  father  ?" 

"  Here  I  am,  ma'am )  I  thought  Miss  Anna  was  here  —  I 
was  just  going  to  assist  her  out  when  I  heard  my  daughter  call 
me,  and  as  I  am  henpecked  when  I  don't  obey,  I  made  all 
haste  to  get  to  you.     Miss  Anna  must  have  gone  into  the  church." 

"  Mr.  Pyke,  I  think  you  are  a  very  stupid  old  man!  "  and 
Susan  shook  violently  the  arm  of  the  old  gentleman. 


a  spikstee's  story.  207 

"  As  awlcward  as  a  bear, —  get  out  of  my  sight." 
"  Miss  Gilbert,  it  is  quite  a  long  time  since  I  was  married  !  " 
An  assertion  which  none  of  the  hearers  doubted  when  they 
looked  at  his  daughter,  and  remembered  he  had  been  wedded 
but  once.  But  Susan  was  in  no  humor  to  listen  to  an  apology, 
and  hastened  into  the  church,  where  the  venerable  clergyman 
was  standing  waiting  at  the  chancel. 

"  0  !   Anna  is  not  here  ;  where  can  she  be  !  " 
"  The   bride    is   in  the  carriage  !  "  said  some  one,  and   upon 
going  back   to   it,  they  found    Anna  seated  as  they  had   placed 
her.     The  bridemaids  now  took   her  by  the  arms,  and   almost 
carried  her  into  the  church. 

'•  Now  wait  with  her  here,"  said  Susan,  "while  I  fetch  that 
old  Barrow,  I  see  him  sitting  in  that  first  pew  there, —  the  old 
heathen  !  " 

She  went  up  the  aisle  to  the  figure,  and  pulling  him  by  the 
collar,  said,  in  a  very  loud  whisper,  "come,  sir,  make  haste  !  " 
The  head  turned  round,  and  she  saw  it  was  not  the  little  old 
man  she  sought.  She  then  gazed  round  the  church  until  satis- 
fied she  had  discovered  in  the  corner  of  a  pew,  the  object  of  her 
search,  and  quickly  returned  to  the  porch,  where  Mr.  Pyke  and 
his  daughter  were  supporting  Anna,  and  said, — 
"  He  is  there,  come,  march  properly  up  the  aisle." 
She  saw  Anna  needed  a  strong  arm,  and  pushing  aside  Mr. 
Pyke,  placed  her  once  again  between  herself  and  her  friend, 
and  led  her  towards  the  altar. 

The  church  was  crowded,  and  numbers  thronged  the  aisles. 
To  her  dismay,  Susan  found  she  had  the  second  time  mistaken 
a  stranger  for  the  bridegroom,  and  now  with  a  countenance 
wholly  perplexed,  attempted  to  penetrate  the  dense  assembly. 
Most  of  the  congregation  now  arose  to  learn  what  caused  the 
delay  ;  suddenly  a  figure  pressed  through  the  crowd  and  passed 
up  the  aisle  ;  when  it  reached  the  altar  they  recognized  Alfred. 
As  Anna  saw  him  she  started,  and  extending  her  arms  to- 
war  !s  him,  attempted  to  make  ane  bound  to  where  he  stood, 
but  S  isan  prevented  it.  Alfred  now  approached,  and  pushing 
her  aside,  seized  Anna's  dress  with  avidity  and  exclaimed, — 

"  Oh,  Anna,  he  has  really  lost  them  !  Not  one  but  both 
his  legs  !     Oil,  happy,  happy  Anna  !  " 

S  i  ■  tell  upon  his  neck,  but  the  exertion  she  had  made  to 
reach  him  was  too  much  for  her  strength,  a  blood-vessel  had 
burst,  and  i,i  a  m  mi  snt  the  hri  lal  dress  was  crimson,  she  let  go 
her  embrace,  and  fell  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

"This  wretchnd  brain  gave  way, 
Awl  I  became  a  wreck,  ;u  random  driven. 
Without  oue  glimpse  uf  reason  or  of  heaven." 

The  ilcilino  of  the  day  brought  a  reprieve  to  the  duties  of 
the  matron,  and  the  affectionate  C allot ta  had  led  her  to  the 
quiet  of  th  sir  little  parlor,  to  soothe  if  not  to  cheer  the  anxious 
parent  who  now  began  to  dread  the  dark  clouds  that  seemed 
impending  over  the  future.  Charles  now  declared  himself  quite 
recovered,  although  his  appearance  was  no  index  of  health,  and 
purp  ise  I  to  leave  on  the  m  >rrow  for  13  dgiiim,  where  he  antici- 
pated joining  a  surveyor,  who  ha  1  partly  offered  him  an  engage- 
ment near  I  Brussels.  Their  precarious  mode  of  living,  his  series 
of  disappointments,  together  with  ill  health,  had  damped  his 
spirits,  and  while  the  widow  sat  brooding  over  her  fears,  the 
door  was  su  Idenly  thrown  open,  and  Charles  bounding  into  the 
room,  exclaimed  in  an  ecdacy  of  joy,  "  News  from  La  Belle  !  " 
and  kneeling  before  them,  presented  a  letter  bearing  the  Halle 
postmark.  Fearing  it  was  a  demand  for  the  payment  of  the 
debt,  for  which  they  were  ill  prepared,  the  anxious  mother  open- 
ed it  tremblingly.     It  was  a  short  note,  and  ran  thus  — 

"  Mij  de  <r  sister-in-law  :  —  It  is  my  painful  duty  to  state  that  fath- 
er died  yesterday;  the  will  is  to  be  read  oa  Thars  lay,  an  1   as  there 
might  possibly  be  a  trifle  for  your  children,  you  had  better  come. 
Yours  truly, 

Eliza  Vilueks." 

There  are  sometimes  few  emotions  more  conducive  to  pain 
than  the  fluctuations  of  hope,  and  the  widow  fearing  to  rejoice 
upon  so  uncertain  a  foundation,  and  unwilling  to  check  the  de- 
light with  which  the  invitation  wis  received  by  the  dear  ones 
who  now  clung  to  her,  she  repaired  to  her  chamber,  while 
diaries  penned  a  letter  to  Lydia,  replete  with  the  outpourings 
of  his  elate  1  soul,  and  closing  with  a  most  unbounded  enthusi- 
asm, as  he  reminded  her  of  the  event  of  the  wreath  ;  and  then  in 
rather  a  se.ao  e  imic  style,  til!  !  I  a  postscript  with  a  lamentation 
up  m  the  death  of  the  old  gentleman,  the  uncertainty  of  life,  and 
sundry  other  n  m-important  effasions  of  his  wit  and  humor,  al- 
though it  was  evident  from  a  remark  he  added,  how  deeply  he 
felt  the  cold,  unfeeling  epistle  of  their  aunt,  and  in  what  con- 
tempt he  regarded  her,  although  he  said  but  little  on  the  subject. 


a  spinster's  story.  209 

"  Who  can  that  bo  sitting  there  in  the  rain  ?  "  said  Lydia,  as 
she  stood  one  afternoon  watching  from  a  window  the  flashes  of 
lightning  that  darted  from  the  dark  heavens  "  See  !  in  the 
grounds  adjoining  ours  there  sits  a  female  figure  in  a  garden 
chair,  as  if  unconscious  of  the  rain.  Do  come  !  "  continue:!  she 
to  a  young  lady  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  "  Who  can  it 
be!" 

"  Oh.  did  you  not  know  before  this,  Miss  Villiers,"  said  the 
young  lady  as  she  came  to  the  window,  "  that  those  are  the 
grounds  belonging  to  yonder  building?  As  far  as  you  can  see, 
is  the  garden  of  the  Lunatic  Asylum,  and  I  suppose  that  poor 
creature  is  one  of  the  unfortunate  inmates  ;  probably  she  has 
wandered  from  her  companions,  and  lost  herself." 

"  Oh  dreadful!  Bat  can  we  do  nothing  for  her?  Look  at 
the  long  tresses  that  hang  in  dishevelment  over  the  thin  shoul- 
ders. See,  she  shudders,  and  with  what  violence  the  storm  is 
now  raging.  Oh,  she  will  take  her  death  of  cold  !  Do  let  us 
go  to  her,  poor  thing  !  " 

"  O'a  no,  you  cannot  !  you  must  not  leave  during  school 
hours,  without  permission  from  Madame,  and  I  know  she  has 
too  little  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate,  to  allow  any  one  to  go. 
So  its  no  use  to  try." 

"  What !  will  no  one  help  you,  poor  woman  ?  "  said  Lydia, 
as  her  tears  started.  "  I  ana  going."  continued  she,  turning  to 
her  companion,   "  I  cannot  wait  for  permission." 

"  Oh,  but  now  she  is  rising  to  go,  and  before  you  could  get 
round  that  large  garden  she  will  be  safe  in  the  house." 

"  Do  look,  see  how  weak  she  is,  she  can  scarcely  walk ;  oh 
how  very  sad  !  " 

"  I  know  it  is  very  awful,"  rejoined  her  companion  indiffer- 
ently. "  But  while  I  think  of  it  —  are  you  aware  that  Signori- 
na  is  to  be  sent  away  to-morrow?" 

'"  Sent  away  !     For  what  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you.  As  soon  as  we  are  all  soundly  asleep,  she 
leaves  her  bed,  and  woes  out  at  all  hours  of  the  night.  Matl- 
ame  lias  seen  her  walking  on  the  piazzas  at  midnight,  and  heard 
her  talking  to  .some  one  in  the  garden  below,  and  what  is  worse 
than  all  this,  she  denies  the  charge." 

"  Certainly  she  is  ignorant  of  it, —  the  poor  girl  is  a  somnam- 
bulist." 

"  But  Madame  will  not  believe  it,  although  she  confessed 
upon  her  knees  that  she  was  innocent  of  the  gross  accusations." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  I  could  convince  Madame,  for  I  have  watched 
her  very  closely  ;  "  and  leaving  the  room,  Lydia  descended  to 
the  parlor  of  Madame  de  Florigui. 


210  a  spinster's  story. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  up  m  the  floor,  was  the  poor  Signo- 
rina,  bathed  in  tears,  while  in  an  agony  of  wild  despair  she 
clang  to  the  dress  of  Madame,  and  entreated  to  be  allowed  to 
remain  a  few  days  longer.  Throwing  herself  between  the  an- 
gry worn  in  and  th  i  unhappy  girl,  Lydia  pleaded  long  and  ear- 
ii  istly  in  her  defence  ;  but  Madame  spurned  the  poor  somnam- 
bulist from  her,  as  though  she  had  been  the  victim  of  some 
loathsome  malady,  and  unmoved  by  the  tears  and  entreaties  of 
tb  ■  sorrowing  Lydia.  ordered  the  wretched  Italian  girl  to  leave 
immediately,  and  extricating  herself  from  the  grasp  that  would 
fain  have  held  her,  she  hastily  left  the  room.  Lydia  followed 
her,  and  begged  her  to  allow  the  unfortunate  Signorina  to  stay 
at  least  until  the  storm  had  abated. 

"  .Miss  Villiers,"  answered  the  lady  with  an  angry  frown,  "  go 
to  your  duties,  and  leave  me  to  mine." 

Hoping  Madame  would  relent,  Lydia  passed  up  stairs,  and 
was  entering  a  lobby  when  she  was  met  by  Signorina,  who  clasp- 
ing her  in  her  arms,  loaded  her  with  thanks  for  her  kindness 
until  hearing  the  footsteps  of  Madame,  gave  a  last  hurried  kiss, 
and  was  gone.  The  hours  in  the  school -room  dragged  wearily 
away,  an  1  as  soon  as  she  was  free,  Lydia  went  in  search  of  Sig- 
norina, but  to  her  disappointment  was  told  that  in  the  midst  of 
the  storm,  while  the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  the  poor,  unprotected 
girl  hud  taken  her  departure. 

"  Come,  Miss  Villiers,"  said  one  of  the  children,  "  the  storm 
is  over,  the  upper  walks  are  dry,  and  we  are  going  out  for  the 
air." 

Lydia  took  the  hand  of  the  little  girl,  and  accompanied  them 
on  their  promenade,  until  the  sky  began  to  lower,  and  to  short- 
en their  journey  homeward,  some  of  them  proposed  making  a 
circuit  through  a  shrubbery  that  lay  between  the  grounds  of  the 
school  and  those  adjoining.  It  was  quite  a  sequestered  spot, 
around  winch  the  foliage  clustered  so  thickly  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  discern  any  object  through  the  leaves. 

"  Listen  !  What  is  that  V  "  said  one  who  led  the  way.  They 
paused,  and  the  bweet,  soft  notes  of  a  silvery  voice  arose  on  the 
still  air. 

"  It  is  a  female  voice,"  said  one  of  the  ladies  who  accompan- 
Le  I  ih  'ii.  "  and  without  doubt  it  is  one  of  the  poor  ladies  from 
the  asylum." 

Tire  voice  seemed  very  familiar  to  Lydia,  and  spelbbound  to 
the  spol,  she  listened  again.  A  sweet,  plaintive  air  from  one 
of  the  Italian  operas,  floated  in  a  low  murmur  on  the  breeze  ; 
then  followed  a  gradual  crescendo,  and    the   intonation,  though 


A    SPIXSTERS    STORY.  211 

light,  was  clear,  round  and  full  ;  there  was  a  deep  expression 
in  every  rippling  strain,  and  whoever  she  might  be,  she  sung 

with  nimh  feeling.  The  voice  became  fainter  and  fainter,  and 
at  last  the  echo  died  away.  Passing  on.,  they  came  to  an  open- 
ing between  the  branches,  through  which  could  be  seen  one  of 
the  most  secluded  portions  of  the  adjoining  grounds.  A  female 
form  emerged  from  a  cluster  of  trees,  and  flitted  to  the  other 
end  of  the  garden  :  the  figure  was  exceedingly  slender,  and 
wore  a  black  robe  that  was  caught  up  round  the  waist  by  a  thin 
wreathing  of  myrtle  ;  dark,  glossy  tresses  hung  disorderly  over 
the  shoulders,  while  a  wreath  of  small  flowers,  tastefully  ar- 
ranged, encircled  the  brow  ;  but  the  face  was  averted,  and  could 
she  have  discerned  the  countenance,  Lydia  felt  confident  she 
should  not  have  recognized  one  familiar  feature,  for  she  was  not 
acquainted  with  a  form  so  slender  and  delicate;  still  there  was 
something  in  that  voice,  together  with  the  air  it  had  sung,  that 
haunted  her  as  perfectly  familiar. 

On  their  return,  a  little  note  was  handed  to  Lydia  ;  she 
found  it  to  be  from  a  child,  who,  having  been  suddenly  taken 
ill,  had  been  sent  home  ;  she  now  sent  word  -to  Lydia  that  she 
was  dying,  and  desired  to  see  her.  During  her  short  stay, 
Lydia  had  become  much  attached  to  the  little  girl,  and  as  soon 
as  she  was  free  fiom  the  school-room,  hasted  to  the  home  of  the 
sick  child.  She  found  her  very  low  of  a  fever,  and  was  told  by 
the  afflicted  parents  that  their  darling  Hermime  was  unconscious 
of  whatever  was  passing  around  her.  But  as  Lydia's  name  was 
mentioned,  the  full  eyes  opened,  and  the  little  arms  were  clasped 
round  her  neck ;  and  as  she  leaned  over  her,  the  faint  voice 
exclaimed, — 

"  Oh  !  Mademoiselle  parlez  moi  encore  du  Seigneur  je  me 
sens  — ■  mourir  —  je  vous  quitte  —  oh  ma  mere  —  adieu  !  " 

The  shades  of  the  evening  were  beginning  to  fall  as  they 
knelt  round  the  bed  of  the  dying,  and  remembering  the  severity 
of  Madame  de  Florigni,  Lydia  stole  softly  from  the  group,  and 
found  her  way  into  the  street  again.  Having  pursued  her  lone- 
ly way  some  distance,  she  found  she  had  exceeded  her  time,  and 
was  still  far  from  the  public  road  ;  her  nearest  route  lay  across 
a  little  cemetery  that  stood  at  her  left ;  the  gates  were  not  yet 
closed,  and  regardless  of  the  gloom  that  pervaded  the  lonely 
place,  she  entered,  and  with  rapid  steps  pressed  on.  Day-light 
bad  departed,  and  to  an  imagination  free  from  superstition,  there 
is,  at  this  hour  especially,  a  holy  serenity,  a  sacred  peace  hover- 
ing over  the  resting-place  of  the  departed.  There  sleep  calmly 
those  whose   names  for  good  or  for  evil,  will  remain   indelible 


212  a  spinster's  story. 

upon  the  Bands  of  time.  There  rest  the  unfortunate,  perchanco 
tin.'  despise  I  ;  those  who  lived  only  to  be  loved,  and  those  who 
loved  without  one  interchange  of  a  mutual  feeling.  Here  i lie 
lofty  have  laid  low  their  aspirations,  the  humble  their  toils,  and 
the  arrogant  their  pride  ;  hero  the  same  .sunbeam,  and  the  same 
shadows  fall  upon  the  friend  and  the  foe  who  wrestle  no  mure, 
but  Mile  by  side,  with  the  forgotten  and  the  stranger,  sleep 
calmly  the  slumber  of  the  sepulchre. 

Having  Wound  her  way  into  the  centre  of  the  grounds,  and 
being  unacquainted  with  the  paths,  Lydia  paused  to  consider  in 
what  direction  she  should  proceed,  and  as  she  stood  undeter- 
mined, a  low  moaning  reached  her  car.  She  listened,  it  was 
the  sound  of  a  human  voice,  and  doubtless  that  of  some  one 
weeping.  Deciding  upon  a  path  she  believed  would  lead  her 
in  the  right  direction,  she  continued  on  her  lonely  way  ;  the 
further  she  proceeded,  the  nearer  came  the  sound,  until,  ap- 
proaching a  newly  made  mound,  she  beheld  a  figure  wrapped  in 
a  cloak,  kneeling  beside  it  ;  the  face  was  buried  in  the  sod, 
while  the  extended  arms  clasped  the  grave,  and  in  broken  ac- 
cents came  the  words, 

"  Oh  come  back,  fur  I  am  wretched  ;  return  to  me  or  I  die  !  " 

Unwilling  that  the  mourner  should  know  any  one  had  wit- 
nessed her  sorrow,  Lydia  passed  quickly  into  another  path,  and 
noiselessly  continued  on  her  way. 

Soon  the  sound  of  rapid  footsteps  fell  upon  her  listening  ear, 
and  she  became  startled  as  she  found  they  came  nearer.  She 
turned,  and  to  her  dismay,  beheld  the  figure  she  had  seen  be- 
fore, running  as  if  in  pursuance  of  her.  It  was  attired  in  a  long 
skirt  or  cloak,  while  mi  the  head  was  a  sort  of  cap,  from  which 
was  suspended  a  black  veil  that  concealed  the  face.  Terrified 
almost  to  the  loss  of  her  self-possession,  Lydia  retreated  behind 
a  cluster  of  trees,  hoping  that  the  intruder,  whether  man  or  wo- 
man, would  soon  pass  her  by;  but  as  if  aware  of  her  hiding- 
place,  it  stopped  at  the  spot,  and  turned  towards  her.  It  view- 
ed her  for  a  moment,  then  the  arms  were  extended,  and  clasp- 
ing them  round  the  waist  of  Lydia,  and  jumping  upon  her,  forced 
her  to  the  ground.  Low  sounds  as  ejaculations  of  some  one  in 
ecstaeies  too  great  for  words,  escaped  from  under  the  long  veil, 
while  feverish  lips  impressed  kiss  after  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 
Then  the  veil  was  uplifted,  but  the  face  !  and  a  cold  tremor  ran 
over  Lydia  as  she  beheld  it.  The  countenance  was  thin  and 
deadly  pale,  the  eyes  though  glaring  wildly  were  sunken  in  the 
sockets,  while  the  features  were  emaciated  to  sharpness,  and 
every   bone  was   visible  through  the  transparent  skin.     It  cer- 


a  spixster's  story.  213 

tainly  was  a  female,  and  whoever  it  might  be,  it  was  but  too 
evident  that  the  poor  woman  had  been  a  great  sufferer,  while 
the  wasted  limits  resembled  those  of  a  skeleton  rather  than  one 
belonging  to  the  living.  A  noise  like  the  clanking  of  chains, 
disturbed  the  dead  silence,  and  heavy  footsteps  were  heard  ap- 
proaching. The  wretched  looking  female  started,  and  tremb- 
ling violently,  exclaimed  as  if  in  great  terror,  "  Here  he  comes  ! 
I  see  him,  oh  save  me  !  "  and  she  clung  still  closer  to  Lydia, 
who  for  a  while  could  see  no  one,  till  the  sound  came  nearer, 
and  a  man  wearing  round  his  waist  a  belt  from  which  was  sus- 
p  mde  1  a  quantity  of  massive  keys,  came  towards  them.  At  the 
sight  of  him,  the  poor  creature  uttered  such  a  shriek  as  to  pierce 
the  inmost  sou!,  and  starting  up  while  she  continued  her  cries, 
she  ran  wildly  in  another  direction,  until  the  monuments  hid 
her  from  view. 

The  man  now  approached,  and  Lydia's  heart  being  touched 
in  pity  for  the  unfortunate  whose  cries  were  still  borne  upon  the 
breeze,  she  emerged  from  her  seclusion,  and  placing  herself  be- 
fore him,  inquired, — 

"  Oh,  who  is  that  poor  woman  ?  please  tell  me  !  " 

"  Why,  did  she  frighten  you?"  inquired  he  with  an  indiffer- 
ent smile,  that  played  over  the  harsh  features,  "  oh,  she's  one 
of  our  poor  patients,  we  let  her  wander  about  for  the  air,  but  I 
forgot  it  was  full  moon  and  that  she'd  require  extra  watching. 
But  dear  me  !  I  do  believe  she  has  taken  the  road  to  the  preci- 
pice," and  he  ran  quickly  in  the  same  direction. 

Night  had  set  in,  and  on  Lydia's  return  she  found  the  lamps 
had  been  long  lighted,  and  dreaded  a  reprimand  from  Madame, 
but  fortunately  did  not  happen  to  encounter  that  lady,  and  pass- 
ed unnoticed  to  her  room.  She  had  a  project  in  view,  and  un- 
happy as  was  the  impression  which  her  adventure  in  the  ceme- 
tery had  left  upon  her,  still  she  endeavored  to  overcome  it  suffi- 
ciently to  put  her  plan  into  execution.  Accordingly,  the  easel 
was  placed  where  the  lainpdight  would  fall  full  upon  it,  the 
brushes  arranged,  and  having  pictured  to  her  fancy  the  counte- 
nance of  the  child  she  had  that  afternoon  visited,  she  sat  down 
to  begin  the  work,  that  she  might  send  to  the  afflicted  parents 
the  portrait  of  the  beloved  little  girl  whose  likeness  they  did 
not  possess. 

The  outline  was  drawn  upon  the  canvas  to  her  satisfaction, 
and  the  first  touches  given,  when  the  bell  rang  for  prayers. 

"  This  is  not  mine,  whose  can  it  be  ?  "  said  she  to  herself  as 
she  began  to  examine  a  handkerchief  she  had  just  taken  up. 
"  I  must  have  picked   it  up  some  where  this  afternoon   by  mis- 


214  a  spotsteb's  story. 

take."  On  viewing  it  more  close'y,  she  found  a  name  in  ono 
corner,  she  wont  nearer  to  the  light  to  read  it,  and  there,  plain- 
ly legible  before  the  astonished  eyes  of  the  agonized  Lydia,  in 
small  round  characl  sra  —  B.  E.  Saovestre. 

Again  the  bell  rang  for  Lydia,  but  she  heard  it  not ;  and  it 
was  nn!  until  Ma  lame  stood  before  her,  that  she  was  conscious 

of  the  hour.  For  the  first  time  since  the  death  of  her  father, 
she  was  completely  unnerved  and  overwhelmed,  so  that  she  was 
lost  to  all  that  passed  around  her. 

"  Conio.  Miss  Villiers,"  sail  .Madame,  as  she  lifted  the  weep- 
ing Lydia  from  the  floor,  "  have  you  received  any  letters  to-day  ?  " 

"  Not  any.  Madame." 

"  Has  any  person  been  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame." 

u  Then  your  grief  can  have  no  substantial  foundation,  and 
let  me  see  no  more  of  it,  T  have  no  patience  with  the  nonsense 
young  girls  are  so  fond  of  falling  into;  I  know  it  is  some  folly 
of  yours,  —  come  and  join  in  the  prayers,  and  repent  of  such 
empty  vanity  which  so  ill  becomes  you  ;  "  and  she  left  the  un- 
happy Lydia  to  the  solitude  of  her  grief. 

"Oh,  Beatrice,  Beatrice !  "  exclaimed  she  in  her  asjony, 
"  and  your  Lydia  did  not  know  you  !  Yon  could  recognize  me, 
but  I  could  not  return  your  embrace.  Oh,  my  poor  Beatrice ! 
and  how  great  must  have  been  your  sufferings  to  have  so  altered 
you,  that  1  could  discern  no  resemblance  I  Beloved  girl,  how 
much  you  have  been  called  upon  to  bear, —  aloue  in  the  world, 
a  stranger,  and  —  a  maniac  !  " 

"  Miss  Villiers.  you  are  ill,"  said  a  maid,  as  she  stood  by  her 
bedside,  the  next  morning. 

"  Oh,  no!  "  replied  Lydia,  with  an  effort  to  rise,  "I  don't 
know  what  makes  me  so  heavy  this  fine  morning;  it  must  be 
very  late." 

"  But  you  must  have  been  quite  ill  during  the  night,  Miss, 
for  you  have  been  quite  delirious,  and  calling  to  us  to  take  you 
to  some  one." 

"  Oh,  I  have  not  rested  well,  but  I  am  very  sorry  to  have 
disturbed  you;  please  leave  me  now,  I  shall  soon  be  dressed." 

Lydia  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door,  and  the  stately  figure  of  Madame  de  Florigni  en- 
tered. 

"  Miss  Villiers,  I  demand  an  explanation  of  your  conduct ;  " 
she  fixed  her  p3netrative  black  eyes  upon  Lydia,  and  paused  a 
moment  as  if  to  read  her  inmost  thoughts,  then  continued,  "  Give 


a  spinster's   story.  215 

me  some  satisfactory  reason  for  your  behavior  during  the  night, 
or  my  patience  will  be  exhausted." 

Lydia  sunk  into  a  chair,  and  with  tearful  eyes  gazed  into  tho 
countenance  of  Madame  :  she  would  willingly  have  told  all,  of 
the  beautiful  Beatrice,  and  the  suffering  lunatic,  but  there  was 
no  sympathy,  no  kind  feeling  iu  the  expression  of  that  face  ; 
only  a  cold  rigidity  —  a  settled  severity  —  an  unrelenting  sus- 
picion, rested  upon  the  harsh  features.  She  rose  from  her  seat, 
and  standing  before  the  erect  figure,  said  with  a  respectful  dig- 
nity, •'  Madame,  pardon  me  if  1  have  given  offence,  I  will  im- 
mediately return  to  my  duties  in  the  school-room,  and  shall  hope 
never  to  merit  your  displeasure  again." 

She  turned  away,  and  Madame,  as  if  repenting  of  her  indig- 
nation, replied, — 

"  Miss  Villiers,  so  long  as  you  conduct  yourself  as  the  noble 
and  trustworthy  young  lady  you  have  ever  been  hitherto,  you 
will  never  cease  to  have  my  highest  esteem,  but  remember  my 
words,  as  soon  as  a  girl  allows  herself  to  fall  into  the  meshes  of 
love,  she  may  expect  to  suffer  for  it  at  some  time." 

Lydia  was  about  to  add  a  remark,  but  Madame  was  gone. 

It  was  with  painful  regret  that  Lydia  was  obliged  to  conclude 
she  could  do  nothing  for  the  present  in  regard  to  the  unfortu- 
nate Beatrice,  for  she  knew  it  to  be  of  paramount  importance  to 
keep  Charles  ignorant  of  the  unhappy  discovery  ;  his  passionate 
love  for  Beatrice,  his  indifferent  health,  so  unsuited  to  bear  the 
least  excitement,  their  extreme  poverty,  and  the  present  pur- 
turbed  state  of  his  mind,  each  was  sufficient  reason  for  keeping 
it  a  secret  until  she  knew  him  to  be  safe  in  Belgium,  and  out 
of  reach  of  her  letters,  when  she  could  open  her  full  heart  to  her 
sympathizing  mother,  and  obtain  her  counsel  for  the  best  mode 
of  proceeding  in  regard  to  the  case  of  the  beloved  girl.  Several 
days  passed,  during  which  she  was  too  unwell  to  leave  the  house, 
and  although  her  attention  was  constantly  directed  to  the  mas- 
sive stone  walls  of  the  asylum  that  towered  in  majestic  stateli- 
ness  above  the  neighboring  hills,  she  never  again  caught  a. 
glimpse  of  any  of  its  inmates.  However,  the  little  portrait  could 
not  be  neglected,  and  during  several  successive  afternoons, 
whenever  she  had  an  hour  unoccupied,  she  worked  busily  at 
the  easel. 

"  Miss  Villiers,  something  for  you,"  said  a  little  girl  one 
morning,  as  she  ran  towards  her,  eager  to  be  first  in  perform- 
ing any  little  office  for  the  young  instructress  whom  they  had 
soon  learned  to  love, —  "  Here  is  a  letter." 

It  was  that  epistle  from  Charles,  containing  the  outpourings 


216  a  spinster's  story. 

of  hi<  enthusiastic  spirit ;  and  every  joyous  expression  seemed  he 
index  if  a  hearl   fall  to  overflowing,  while  at  the  same  tun?,  it 
re  [aire  1  h  sr  to  hold  h  irs  df  in  re  i  1   i ess  to  accomp  toy  him  li 
on  i  ic  following  day,  that  they  might  start  for  La  Belle  to  be 
pre-  ling  of  the  will.     Now,  to  obtain  permission 

from  Madame,  Lydia  know  would  be  no  easy  or  pleasant  task, 
an  1  anxious  to  h  ive  it  granted  at  once,  she  summoned  fresh  reso- 
lution, and  (!  iscended  as  soon  as  school  hours  were  over,  to  the 
parlor  of  Madame  de  Florigni 

The  sharp  and  imperative  "  E'ltrez  "  answered  her  gentle  tap, 

and  Bhe  st 1  once   again   before  the  scrutinizing  glance  of  the 

piercing  black  eyes.  She  stated  her  mission,  and  finding  Mad- 
ame made  no  reply,  again  inquired,  "  Please,  ma}'  I  go,  Mad- 
ame '(  " 

"  Yes,  for  a  short  time,  a  long  time,  or  for  altogether  and  for 
good  if  you  choose  ;  of  course  while  you  are  away,  if  only  for  a 
day,  your  salary  is  deducted.  I  expect,  like  that  Italian  girl,  you 
have  some  project  in  your  mind,  and  have  no  idea  of  returning, 
only  you  will  not  be  candid  enough  to  tell  me  so.  I  could 
plainly  see  of  late  that  your  head  was  turned  like  that  foolish 
Signorina's,  who  was  forever  writing  to  some  lieutenant  who 
cared  nothing  at  all  for  her ;  and  I  know  perfectly  well  you 
never  mean  to  come  back,  and  you  need  n)t  take  the  trouble, 
as  I  shall  lessen  my  expenses  this  winter.  I  will  give  you  your 
salary,  and  you  can  go  as  soon  as  you  like.  There  !  seventy- 
five  francs,  that  is  right,  I  believe,  for  the  time  you  have  been 
here.  Good-by,  Miss  Villiers  ;  "  and  Madame  walked  out  of 
the  room. 

Pained  and  disappointed,  Lydia  stood  as  one  petrified  ;  to 
have  been  so  misunderstood,  that  ber  word  was  not  relied  upon, 
seemed  more  than  she  could  bear ;  but  the  inspiriting  words  of 
the  joyous  Charles  came  to  her  relief,  and  finding  she  stood 
alone  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  she  took  up  the  money  and  left 
the  room. 

That  evening  the  little  portrait  was  finished,  placed  in  a  wrap- 
per and  sent  to  its  destination ;  Lydia  passed  a  restless  night, 
and  early  the  following  day,  accompanied  the  delighted  Charles 
towards  her  beloved  home,  and  was  glad  to  find  he  still  adhered 
to  a  former  resolution  of  his, —  never  to  introduce  the  subject  of 
the  missing  Beatrice  ;  and  although  her  thoughts  ran  continual- 
ly upon  that  poor  sufferer,  she  endeavored  to  appear  interested 
in  the  conversation  of  Charles,  who  seemed  determined  her  jour- 
ney should  know  no  monotony  ;  and  as  was  his  custom  on  such 
occasions,  he  constantly  made  some  captivating  tale  out  of  noth- 


a  spinster's  story.  217 

Lag.  Lydia  wished  to  learn  the  state  of  his  feelings  towards 
Hermann,  whom  they  must  shortly  meet  under  rather  painful 
oircumstances,  and  was  not  only  pleasingly  disappointed,  hut 
quite  satisfied  to  find  him  in  that  respect  perfectly  unselfish  and 
charitable. 

It  was  Thursday  morning  at  La  Belle.  The  tapestry  hang- 
ings in  the  spacious,  old-fashioned  drawing-room  were  so  ar- 
ranged as  to  admit  only  a  few  rays  of  light,  and  as  the  apart- 
ment was  deeply  shaded,  a  feeling  of  awe  seemed  to  pervade  it  ; 
towards  the  centre  stood  the  coffin  that  contained  the  corpse  of 
Sir  Charles,  while  a  domestic,  the  only  living  form  in  the  room, 
sat  at  the  feet.  The  hour  of  twelve  was  tolled  by  the  clock  in 
the  tower,  the  door  opened,  and  Miss  Eliza,  Mrs.  Villers,  Charles, 
Lydia  and  Carlotta  entered,  followed  by  Hermann,  Fritzine  and 
others,  and  took  their  seats  ;  then  came  the  lawyers,  witnesses, 
and  the  retinue  of  the  household,  until  the  room  was  filled.  Not 
a  whisper  was  heard,  but  a  breathless  silence  pervaded  that  large 
assembly ;  a  desk  was  unlocked,  a  scroll  lifted  from  its  hiding- 
place,  a  tall  gentleman  in  black  arose,  and  taking  the  paper, 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  coffin,  and  read  as  follows, — 

"In  the  Name  of  God,  Amen.  I,  Charles  Frederick  Villiers 
(if  La  Belle,  in  the  province  of  Halle,  being  of  sound  mind  and 
memory,  and  considering  the  uncertainty  of  this  frail  and  transi- 
tory life,  do  therefore  make,  ordain,  publish  and  declare  this  to 
be  my  last  will  and  testament ;  that  is  to  say,  first,  after  all  my 
lawful  debts  are  paid  and  discharged,  my  estate  real  and  person- 
al, I  give,  bequeath  and  dispose  of  as  follows,  to  wit:  to  my 
grandson  Charles  F.  Villiers,  the  estate  known  and  designated 
as  La  Belle,  together  with  two  hundred  shares  in  the  capital 
stock  of  the  Halle  bank,  and  six  hundred  thousand  thalers.  But 
in  the  case  of  his  decease  the  whole  of  the  aforesaid  will  pass 
into  the  possession  of  Hermann  Rosdt  Deufstandten.  To  my 
daughter  Eliza,  two  thousand  thalers  a  year  as  long  as  she  shall 
remain  unmarried.  To  my  granddaughter,  Lydia  Frances  Vil- 
liers, my  town  residence  in  Berlin.  To  her  sister,  Carlotta  Vil- 
liers, her  choice  of  three  sets  of  my  plate.  To  the  institution  for 
infirm  bachelors,  the  sum  of  three  thousand  thalers.  To  my 
valet,  Thomas  Mark,  seven  hundred  thalers,  and  my  red  dress- 
ing gown,  Turkish  cap  and  wig.  To  the  chaplain  of  my  estate, 
all  the  religious  books  in  my  library.  To  my  housekeeper,  good 
Mrs.  Summers,  ten  thousand  thalers  and  my  favorite  cat ;  to 
every  other  servant  now  in  my  employ,  five  thousand  thalers. 
And  I  give,  bequeath  and  devise  all  the  rest,  residue  and  re- 
10 


f.  1 8  a  BPisrsTKB'd  story. 

mainder  of  my  personal  estate  to  the  crown  of  Prussia,  as  a  to- 
ken of  my  loyalty  to  my  sovereign. — 

Here  a  rustling  of  dresses  an  I  a  subdued  cry  from  the  lips 
of  the  pale  Lydia,  drew  the  attention  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room  where  Charles  stood  supporting  the  widow,  who  had  faint- 
ed. She  was  carried  into  the  open  air,  and  being  assured  liy 
the  children  who  stood  round  her,  that  what  she  had  heard  was 
real  and  true,  was  at  last  restored. 

Bui  the  house  that  coutained  Hermann  and  Fritzine  was  no 
place  of  quiet  for  the  widow,  and  her  children  who  were  unac- 
customed to  harsh  words,  were  glad  to  take  leave  of  La  Belle 
until  they  should  enter  its  walls  as  its  future  occupants. 


CHAPTER  XXIT. 

"  Look  through  thoso  bars  !     It  is  a  prison  cell. 
See  there  that  youth,  and  say.  canst  thou  bulwltf 
Ought  that's  not  honest,  trustw  irthy  and  trno? 
Penetrate  the  depths  of  those  full  ej 

And  tell  me,  canst  Miou  there  discern  of  fraud? 
Why  is  he  here  ?  " 

Anna  lay  for  several  days  apparently  lifeless  ;  Mrs.  Gilburt, 
who  believed  her  lingering  upon  the  verge  of  the  grave,  hid  too 
great  a  dread  of  death  to  allow  herself  ever  to  enter  the"  room, 
but  she  went  about  the  house  speaking  in  whispers,  and  hushing 
every  sound,  while  Alfred  kept  constant  vigil  at  the  bed-side  of 
the  sick  girl.  Susan  said  very  little,  but  remained  in  a  sullen 
humor  ever  since  the  eventful  day,  and  for  a  wonder,  nothing 
was  seen  of  Miss  Pyke,  for  although  she  was  most  curious  to 
learn  "  how  the  poor  little  man  could  possibly  have  lost  both  his 
legs,"  still  she  declared  h  srself  too  much  overcome  by  the  shock 
she  had  received,  to  venture  out  ;  accordingly,  Mr.  Pyke  was 
sent  as  soon  as  the  weather  permitted,  to  inquire  into  the  query, 
and  at  last  returned  with  the  tidings  that  as  Mr.  Barrow 
was  on  his  way  to  New  York,  a  collision  occurred  upon  the  rail- 
road ;  several  were  killed,  many  lost  their  limbs,  and  among 
other  valuables  that  were  missing,  were  the  less  of  Robert  Bar- 
row,  Esq. 

"  Susan,  for  pity's  sake  don't  talk  any  more  of  turning  them 
into  the  street!"  entreated  Mrs.  Gilbert,  one  day,  after  having 
heard  the  physician  say  that  Anna  was  not  yet  out  of  danger  ; 
"  1  should  be  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  and  not  know  where  they 
were.  And  Susan,  if  Anua  dies,  I  shall  always  feel  that  we 
were  the  cause  of  it." 


a  spinster's   story.  219 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  what  you  do,  as  long  as  you  don't  tease 
me  about  them,  and  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  you  are  not  going 
to  spend  any  money  upon  them,  for  I  want  all  I  can  get  for  my- 
pelf ;  and  when  Anna  reeovers,  we  need  not  have  a  Judy,  as 
she  can  do  all  the  housework  again,  and  of  course  Alfred  will 
pay  you  the  whole  of  his  salary  ;  so  they  can  both  stay  here  as 
long  as  they  don't  interfere  with  me,  but  as  soon  as  they  do, 
mind,  out  they  will  go." 

"  Very  well,  then  I'll  just  go  and  open  the  door  and  tell  An- 
na, for  perhaps  the  poor  girl  is  dying,  and  the  comforting  words 
may  save  her." 

Anna  lingered  for  several  weeks,  while  a  slow  fever  wrought 
its  work  of  debility,  and  was  expected  hourly  to  terminate  fatal- 
ly; but  she  was  not  intended  for  the  tomb  thus  early, —  she  had 
much  to  learn  of  life  which  now  awaited  her,  and  by  degrees 
arose  to  take  her  place  again  among  the  duties  of  the  living. 

The  afternoon  was  rainy  ;  and  although  it  was  early  for  Al- 
fred's return,  Anna  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the  foot-fall  upon 
the  steps  ;  she  was  ready  in  the  entry  to  take  the  wet  coat,  and 
as  she  shook  it  she  exclaimed, — 

'•'  There's  something  very  heavy  in  one  of  the  pockets.  Why 
Alfred,  what  a  singular  looking  key  !  " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  it  came  there,  and  it  certainly 
is  the  key  of  our  safe." 

"  Oh,  do  take  it  back  immediately,  in  case  some  trouble  should 
come  of  it  !  " 

"  My  dear  Anna,  if  it  is  the  right  key  of  the  safe,  it  is  sure 
to  be  locked,  so  that  no  thieves  and  robbers  can  enter  therein," 
returned  Alfred,  playfully,  "  besides,  to-morrow  will  be  time 
enough  to  take  it  back,  I  wish  to  finish  a  very  interesting  book 
this  afternoon  before  tea-time  ;  but  of  course,  Anna,  you  must 
always  have  so  many  fears  for  me  about  nothing." 

The  following  day  came,  and  at  the  same  hour  Anna  looked 
again  for  Alfred's  return,  but  no  Alfred  came  ;  tea  was  over, 
Susan  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  Miss  Pyke  to  ascertain  what  the 
Autumn  fashions  would  be,  and  returned,  and  with  the  old  lady 
retired  for  the  night,  leaving  Anna  in  anxious  suspense  waiting 
for  Alfred.  Ten,  eleven  o'clock,  still  he  came  not :  the  night 
was  dark  and  foggy,  the  lights  in  the  streets  burned  dimly,  and 
nothing  could  be  discerned  from  the  window.  The  old-fashion- 
ed clock  on  the  stairs  struck  the  hour  of  midnight,  and  yet  found 
her  pacing  the  floor  of  her  room,  unable  to  control  the  agitation 
which  her  fears  for  his  safety  had  excited.  At  last  the  weak 
and  exhausted  frame  sunk  upon  the  floor,  and  the  weary  Anna 


220  a  spinster's  story. 

fell  into  a  heavy  slumber.  The  light  of  the  dawn  stole  in  upon 
the  sleeper,  .-mil  as  by  intuitive  impulse,  she  arose  an  1  descend- 
ed to  the  kitohen  to  make  preparations  for  the  morning  meal. 
At  the  usual  hour,  the  cap  ami  eurl-papers  of  Mrs.  Gilbert 
made  their  appearance,  ami  by  the  time  she  had  put  the  usual 
small  quantity  of  tea  to  draw,  Susm  entered,  and  having  waited 
tor  Anna  to  put  her  chair  in  its  accustomed  place,  took  her  seat 
at  the  table, 

"  So  that  tiresome  fellow  did  not  find  his  way  home  all  night," 
said  Mrs.  Gilbert,  after  a  long  pause,  during  which  time  she  sat 
with  her  hands  crossed,  heaving  a  succession  of  sighs.  "  Anna, 
I  think  you  had  better  go  to  .Mrs.  Barrow's,  and  ask  the  way  to 
the  Merchant's  Exchange,  so  that  you  may  inquire  there  what 
has  become  of  him.     Don't  you  think  so,  Susan  '.;  " 

But  Susan  was  in  one  of  her  sullen  humors  just  then,  and 
thought  of  nothing  but  her  own  grievances,  and  finding  no  an- 
swer came  from  that  quarter,  the  old  lad)'  added,  "  Yes,  Anna, 
you  had  better  go." 

Having  completed  her  task  as  maid  in  Susan's  dressing-room, 
Anna  repaired  to  the  domicile  of  Robert  Harrow,  Esq. 

It  could  not  be  said  that  Mrs.  Barrow  looked  any  the  worse 
for  her  son's  misfortune,  probably  from  the  reason  that  she  nev- 
er had  any  appearance  but  of  one  just  tottering  into  the  grave  ; 
however,  to  Anna's  inquiry  of  her  son,  she  replied  with  a  de- 
gree of  sprightliness,  "  Very  badly  my  dear,  very  badly  indeed, 
but  it  will  cheer  the  poor  fellow  to  sec  you,  for  be  often  calls 
out  for  you  in  his  sleep." 

Anna  stated  her  errand  there  that  morning,  but  the  old  lady 
paid  little  attention,  and  continued  to  urge  her  to  visit  the  cham- 
ber of  her  son ;  and  at  last,  out  of  pity  to  the  poor  old  lady, 
Anna  complied,  and  followed  her  guide  to  a  room  where,  stretch- 
ed upon  the  bed,  was  the  helpless  Barrow.  To  her  great  disap- 
pointment, she  found  the  loquacity  of  the  little  man  was  not 
weakened,  for  be  continued  to  talk  of  his  lamentable  fate,  how 
the  shock  of  bis  misfortune  had  been  the  cause  of  her  illness, 
and  that  she  must  endeavor  to  keep  up  her  spirits  until  he  was 
well  again,  when  the  ceremony  certainly  would  take  place.  lie 
then  requested  her  to  come  nearer  to  his  bed-side,  but  Anna, 
who  had  comforted  herself  with  the  idea  that  his  odious  caresses 
were  at  an  end  forever,  having  obtained  the  necessary  informa- 
tion, left  the  little  man  to  himself,  and  made  her  way  out  of  the 
bouse,  just  as  Miss  Kate  Danvers  was  passing  the  door. 

"  Oh,  Anna!  you've  been  to  see  that  miserable  old  machine 
of  a   Barrow  !     How  can  you  leave  the   house,  and   Alfred  in 


A    SriXSTER's     STORY.  221 

such  trouble?  We  all  feel  very  sorry  for  him,  it  must  have 
been  the  influence  of  bad  companions,  lie  never  looked  as  one 
who  could  do  anything  so  base.  Dut  what's  the  matter  with 
you?  how  strange  you  look!  You  know  they  are  not  likely 
to  imprison  him  for  life. 

But  Anna  heard  no  more,  she  had  darted  off  in  the  direction 
of  the  Exchange. 

As  soon  as  Alfred  reached  his  office  on  the  previous  morning, 
he  was  immediately  sent  out  upon  some  important  business,  and 
forgot  all  about  the  key.  Some  time  after,  one  of  the  firm,  on 
going  to  the  safe,  found  it  unlocked,  and  some  thousands  of  dol- 
lars,  together  with  checks  to  a  considerable  amount,  missing. 

Business  was  suspended,  and  a  general  search  made,  but 
without  finding  any  clue  to  the  robber.  Later  in  the  day  Al- 
fred entered,  was  searched  and  —  the  key  found  upon  him. 

That  night  a  prison  cell  fettered  the  form  of  the  noble  youth, 
who  would  rather  have  suffered  death,  than  have  stooped  to  the 
crime  of  an  embezzler. 

It  was  morning  in  the  world  without,  but  through  the  grating 
of  that  prison  cell  came  no  bright  beam  to  cast  a  ray  of  hope  on 
that  sorrow-stricken  soul  ;  for  the  light  of  heaven  might  scarce- 
ly be  said  to  exist  there,  except,  that  ever  and  anon  one  gleam 
stole  into  the  narrow  abode,  and  fell  upon  a  small  iron  bedstead 
containing  a  mattress  that  had  remained  undisturbed  during  the 
night,  a  shelf,  on  which  stood  some  untouched  food,  and  a  wood- 
en stool  that  supported  the  figure  of  a  youth,  whose  head  rested 
against  the  wall,  while  the  thin  hands  concealed  the  features. 
No  sound  broke  the  stillness  of  that  cell,  until  the  heavy  tread 
of  the  warden  might  be  heard  approaching  the  door,  a  key  was 
placed  in  the  lock,  the  door  opened,  and  a  female  figure  entered. 
She  approached  him,  but  he  moved  not,  she  knelt  before  him, 
and  clasping  the  cold  limbs,  wrapped  them  in  the  folds  of  her 
mantle,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  Alfred,  are  you  dead  ?  Speak  to 
me!" 

No  answer  came  to  the  agonized  Anna,  she  uttered  a  shriek, 
the  limbs  moved,  and  the  eyelids  heavy  with  sleep,  opened  to 
fill  with  tears  as  they  beheld  before  them  all  that  was  dear  on 
earth,  all  that  could  point  him  to  Heaven. 

"Oh  Anna!  Anna!"  and  the  aching  head  fell  upon  her 
bosom,  while  the  sobs  choked  his  utterance.  Her  cold  hands 
brushed  aside  the  locks  that  clustered  upon  his  brow,  and  she 
endeavored  to  speak,  but  the  power  had  failed,  and  tears  ouly 
came  to  her  relief. 

"  Oh,  Anna,  if  we  two  could  but  die  this  moment ; "  and  he 


ZT1  X   SPINSTERS    STORY. 

clung  closer  to  the  trembling  form,  while  they  mingled  their 
tears  together,  "  Anna,  this  disgrace  is  more  than  I  can  "hear, 
and  bu1  fur  yon  I  would  willingly  be  hanged  at  once  ;  I  know 
you  have  no  one  in  the  wide  world  beside  me  !  "  and  a  cold, 
thin  hand  was  placed  upon  each  cheek,  while  the  icy  lips  were 
nervously  pressed  upon  her  forehead.  And  Anna,  there  is  no 
one  in  the  world  to  believe  me  innocent  but  you,  my  poor,  lone- 
ly sister,  for  you  know  there  is  no  poverty  that  could  tempt  me, 
no  wretchedness  that  could  prompt  me  to  such  a  crime  !  " 

"  But  Alfred,  whatever  we  are  called  upon  to  suffer  in  the 
body,  cannot  destroy  the  soul.  Remember  the  words  '  He  shall 
deliver  thee  in  six  troubles,  yea,  in  seven  there  shall  no  evil 
touch  thee.'  '  I  the  Lord  thy  God  will  hold  thy  right  hand,  say- 
ing unto  thee,  Fear  not,  I  will  help  thee.'  And  '  We  know 
that  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love  God, 
to  them  who  are  the  called  according  to  his  purpose.'  Besides, 
Alfred,  '  He  hath  not  despised  nor  abhorred  the  affliction  of  the 
afflicted  ; '  but  has  also  said,  '  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God,  which 
teaeheth  thee  to  piofit,  which  leadeth  thee  by  the  way  that  thou 
shouldcst  go,'  and  'As  thy  days,  so  shall  thy  strength  be.' 
For  true  and  faithful  is  the  promise,  '  When  thou  passest  through 
the  waters  I  will  be  with  thee  ;  and  through  the  rivers,  they 
shall  not  overflow  thee  ;  when  thou  walkest  through  the  fire, 
thou  shalt  not  be  burned,  neither  shall  the  flame  kindle  upon 
thee.'  And  you  know  whatever  may  be  the  trial,  it  is  intended 
for  our  good,  For  he  will  not  lay  upon  man  more  than  right,' 
and  hath  declared  'As  many  as  I  love  I  rebuke  and  chasten, 
and  '  What  I  do,  thou  knowest  not  now;  but  thou  shalt  know 
hereafter.'  " 

They  knelt  ;  and  clasping  the  chill  form  of  Alfred,  the  fer- 
vent petition  for  his  deliverance  from  the  ignominy  of  the  pres- 
ent hour,  arose  from  a  heart  full  to  overflowing. 

The  door  opened,  it  was  a  signal  for  her  departure,  and  Al- 
fred must  be  left  again  to  the  solitude  of  his  cell. 

Day  dawned  upon  Philadelphia,  it  was  the  morning  of  the 
trial.  The  long,  weary  hours  of  a  sleepless  night  had  at  last 
passed  away,  and  now,  within  those  narrow  limits,  enfeebled  by 
close  confinement,  and  nervous  from  the  low  state  of  his  system, 
the  youth  sat  pale  and  trembling,  while  the  strong  desire  to  rest 
fearless  and  undaunted  upon  his  innocence,  only  increased  his 
agony  as  he  found  his  physical  strength  inadequate  to  this.  He 
endeavored  to  look  within  himself,  but  there  only  a  chaos  of 
ideas,  which  puzzled  and  perplexed  him.  Half  instinctively, 
partly  in  obedience  to  an  impulse  that  urged  him  to  the  act,  he 


a  spinster's   story.  223 

bent  the  knee,  and  raised  the  thin  hands  as  in  supplication  ; 
but  words  came  nut,  yet  the  assurance  of  a  divine  presence 
threw  a  holy  influence  over  that  benighted  soul  ;  in  silence  the 
spirit  was  uplifted,  and  the  whole  being  was  calmed  and  refresh- 
ed. He  arose,  his  agitation  was  much  allayed,  and  his  thoughts 
more  collected ;  as  be  turned,  he  beheld  Anna  kneeling  beside 
him.  Few  sentences  were  spoken  that  morning,  tears  said  mure 
than  words,  for  a  bell  sounded,  and  an  embrace  as  if  to  be  the 
last,  was  all;  then  the  door  opened,  two  men  entered,  and  tore 
from  the  side  of  the  weeping  Anna,  all  that  was  left  her  in  the 
world  to  live  for.  And  what  would  be  the  sentence  ?  She  dread- 
ed to  think,  while  she  stood  alone,  and  saw  them  lead  Alfred 
through  the  long,  stone  gallery  into  the  court,  where,  as  the 
door  opened,  she  could  discern  many  persons  assembled,  look- 
ing  earnestly  upon  the  prisoner  as  he  was  conducted  to  the  bar. 
A  hand  was  placed  upon  her  arm,  and  soon  she  found  herself 
seated  in  the  witnesses'  box.  Her  eyes  were  uplifted  to  that 
vast  assembly,  as  if  in  search  of  a  kindly  glance  of  pity  for  the 
youth  before  them.  But  no  familiar  face  met  her  earnest  gaze, 
for  Susan  had  declared  herself  and  her  mother  confined  to  their 
'  beds  and  unable  to  attend.  The  doors  were  closed,  a  dead 
silence  reigned  throughout,  Anna  heard  a  voice  speaking,  but 
she  understood  not  the  purport  of  the  words,  for  a  faintness  and 
dizziness  came  over  her  ;  still  she  sat  the  same  immovable  statue  ; 
then  some  questions  were  put  to  her,  she  arose  and  went  through 
the  ceremony  of  the  oath.  A  sudden  recollection  that  she  was 
dealing  with  the  sacred  volume  must  have  awakened  her  to  a 
full  consciousenss  of  her  present  position,  for  with  a  calm  self- 
possession,  she  gave  her  evidence,  though  it  was  scarcely  finish- 
ed when  she  sunk  again  into  her  seat,  and  a  stupor  came  over 
her.  The  time  wore  on,  the  jury  left  and  returned  ;  the  de- 
cisive word  "  guilty"  pierced  into  the  soul  of  the  agonized  girl. 
She  started  to  her  feet,  and  looking  up,  saw  them  bearing  the 
beloved  form  within  their  arms,  while  there  came  the  inquiry 
from  the  multitude,  as  from  one  voice,  "  Is  he  dead  V  "  and  she 
knew  no  more. 

"  Come,  Anna,  get  up,"  said  Susan  as  she  bent  over  the  couch 
on  which  they  had  laid  the  fainting  girl.  '*  I'm  sure  you  are 
well  enough  by  this  time,  I  know  you  feign  all  this,  that  you 
may  get  off  doing  the  work  of  the  house ;  and  again  she  threw 
a  quantity  of  water  into  the  pale  face,  and  finding  its  efficacy  to 
be  insufficient,  took  the  invalid  by  the  shoulders,  and  shook  the 
exhausted  frame,  until  the  violence  of  the  movement  aroused 
the  unconscious  girl,  and  rising,  as  she  clasped  the  skirt  of  the 
hard-hearted  Susan,  she  exclaimed, — 


224  a  BPiarsTEfc's  story. 

"Oh,  tell  mo  —  do  please  say  that  you  too  think  him  inno- 
cent ;  oh,  only  tell  me  you  do  not  believe  him  guilty  of  the 
crime  !     Please,  Susan,  for  pity's  sake  !  " 

"  Get  up,  and  don't  trouble  mo  about  him  ;  you  know  I  al- 
ways have  a  poor  opinion  of  boys,  in  fact  of  the  sex  in  general, 
I  might  say,  and  I'm  sure  there's  one  consolation  for  every  old 
maid  in  her  melancholy  moods,  the  blessed  assurance  of  having 
no  sucli  impediment  to  what  little  happiness  there  is  in  this  life. 
Haven't  I  always  told  you  hoys  were  nothing  but  a  bore  and  a 
torment?  Now  you  see  the  truth  of  Susan's  words,  wise  and 
discreet  as  I  dare  say  you  always  thought  yourself;  he  never 
was  anything  but  a  plague  ever  since  he  came  here,  and  now 
the  sooner  they  put  an  end  to  his  pranks  the  better,  if  I  am  to 
have  any  peace  in  this  existence." 

"  Susan,  what  do  you  mean  ?     They  will  not  take  his  life  ?" 

"And  did  I  say  they  would?  Foolish  girl,  of  course,  as  his 
sentence  is  two  years  imprisonment,  it's  not  very  likely  they're 
going  to  take  the  trouble  to  hang  him  afterwards,  is  it  V 

"  Alfred  !  yes,  I  must  go  to  him  now,"  said  she  in  wild  des- 
pair, as  she  sprung  from  the  couch. 

"  Anna,  if  you  keep  on  like  this  you'll  soon  be  a  maniac, 
and  goodness  knows  the  trouble  you'll  be  to  me  then  ;  tie  up 
your  hair,  and  behave  in  this  manner  no  longer.  You  know  the 
prisoners  are  not  to  stay  in  the  city,  at  a  late  hour  to-morrow 
night  they'll  be  taken  miles  away,  and  you'll  not  see  Alfred 
until  he  comes  back,  for  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  leave  every- 
thing at  home,  just  to  be  flying  after  him  like  some  poor  lunatic, 
so  you  can  make  yourself  sure  about  that." 

Anna  glanced  at  her  in  bewilderment  for  a  few  seconds,  then 
fell  back,  and  another  fainting  fit  followed. 

It  was  nearly  midnight ;  a  stillness  impressive  of  the  deepest 
awe  pervaded  the  house  ;  it  would  seem  that  all  must  be  abed 
and  sleeping  at  that  silent  hour,  yet  in  a  little  room  at  the  top 
of  the  stairs,  a  flickering  taper  might  be  seen  casting  its  glimmer- 
ings upon  one  who  had  no  thought  of  sleep  ;  with  her  hand  upon 
the  lock,  she  stood  equipped  for  the  streets,  dark  and  lonely  as 
they  were  on  that  moonless  night  ;  stealthily  she  opened  the 
doer  and  listened,  but  no  sound  fell  upon  the  listening  car,  all 
was  silent  as  the  tomb  ;  she  began  to  creep  noiselessly  down  the 
stairs,  but  a  cough  from  the  dreaded  Susan  reached  her  affright- 
ed ear;  she  paused,  and  the  feeble  frame  rested  against  the  bal- 
uster for  support,  while  she  expected  to  see  a  dour  beside  her 
open,  and  the  angry  frown  of  Susan  before  her,  when  she  would 
be  commanded  to  return  to  her  room,  and  see   Alfred  perhaps 


A    SPIXSTEU'S     STORY.  225 

no  more,  for  ever;  but  all  was  still  again,  she  pressed  onward, 
an  I  at  lasl  r  ■  ich  1 1  the  hall  door,  and  found  the  boll  and  lo  dcs 
of  which  there  was  no  small  number,  for  Mrs  Gilbert  had  a 
very  great  dread  of  housebreakers,  and  even  in  these  laiter 
days,  would  often  dream  of  highwaymen,  and  in  her  visions  see 
her  pocket  which,  day  and  night  was  singularly  tied  behind  her, 
ransacked  and  robbed  of  its  treasures  ;  but  at  last  these  fasten- 
ings were  conquered,  and  Anna  found  herself  in  the  street. 
Here  and  there,  a  lamp  flickered  in  the  obscurity,  but  to-night 
these  seemed  few  and  far  between  ;  there  was  not  even  the  foot- 
fall of  the  policeman  on  his  beat,  and  all  was  silent,  dark,  drear, 
and  solitary  ;  but  it  was  late,  she  had  paused  long  enough  and 
must  now  liasten  on  her  lonely  way.  To  walk  the  streets  at  that 
dead  hour  of  the  night  unprotected,  had  no  terrors  for  her  ;  the 
darkness  of  the  soul  within  seemed  far  mere  rayless,  hopeless  ; 
all  that  occupied  her  now  was  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him  she  had 
not  seen  since  she  beheld  the  slender  form  borne  from  the  court 
by  those  formidable -looking  men  ;  and  again  she  must  lock  in 
one  last  embrace,  all  she  lived  for,  all  for  which  she  would  wil- 
lingly have  died,  and  onie  more  hear  that  voice  which  might  re- 
main silent  to  her  for  ever  after.  She  had  now  passed  through 
several  streets,  and  entered  a  lane  with  which  she  was  not  fa- 
miliar. Pausing  to  consider  her  way,  she  heard  heavy  footsteps 
and  loud  voices  approaching  her  ;  ascending  the  steps  of  a 
dwelling,  she  intended  to  hide  herself  in  the  obscurity,  until  the 
men  should  have  passed  by  ;  their  laughter  became  louder,  and 
trembling  with  fear  she  leaned  against  the  door  at  which  she 
stood.  Suddenly  it  burst  open' and  she  fell  into  the  passage. 
Before  she  had  time  to  rise,  a  room-door  by  her  side  opened, 
arid  an  old  gentleman  in  his  night-cap  and  spectacles  made  his 
appearance. 

"  Bless  my  soul  alive  !  What  in  the  name  of  goodness  does 
this  woman  do  here  !     Betsey,  come,  quick  !  " 

A  stout,  coarse-looking  woman  now  emerged  from  the  room ; 
and  Anna,  who  was  about  to  make  her  retreat,  suddenly  found 
the  hands  of  the  old  gentleman  laid  upon  her  shoulders,  while 
;in  angry  tones  he  continued, — 

"  Not  so  fast  you  miserable  wretch,  you  needn't  think  after 
coining  here  to  pilfer  all  you  could  get,  that  you're  going  to  es- 
cape justice  so  easily  ;  you  expected  to  find  us  all  soundly  asleep, 
didn't  you?  You  look  a  poor,  forlorn,  guilty  creature,  frighten- 
ed out  of  your  senses,  and  well  you  need  be,  now  you're  in  my 
bands.     Betsey,  hold  her  !     I'll  soon  find  the  police." 

The  terrified  girl  felt  her  trembling  limbs  powerless  within 
10* 


226  a  spinster's  story. 

the  iron  grasp  of  the  strong  woman,  while  to  add  to  her  distress 
she   saw   the   old   gentleman   leave  the  house  to  carry  out  his 

••  Why,"  said  the  woman,  as  the  lamp-light  from  the  room  fell 
up  m  them,  "  how  can  such  a  young  girl  as  you  be  bold  enough 
to  walk  the  streets  at  this  hour  of  the  night  ?  You  must  be 
much  more  depraved  than  you  look,  and  it's  time  such  a  career 
was  brought  to  an  end!  And  —  "  A  loud  scream  came  from 
the  room,  and  dropping  her  hold  of  Anna,  she  flew  into  the 
apartment,  exclaiming, — 

"  Oh,  my  child  !  my  child  !  " 

Anna  heard  no  more  ;  she  was  already  in  the  dark  sloping 
street,  where,  not  far  in  the  distance  she  could  discern  the  fig- 
ures of  two  men  approaching  the  house.  She  was  now  about 
to  meet  them  under  the  light  of  a  lamp  that  stood  near,  and 
crouching  down  in  the  shadow  of  a  flight  of  steps,  remained 
unobserved  until  they  were  safely  past.  She  then  continued  on 
her  way,  and  had  just  reached  the  end  of  the  lane,  when  the 
heavy  rumbling  of  wheels  disturbed  the  dead  silence.  A  vehi- 
cle approached  —  to  her,  it  appeared  a  long,  closely  shut  coach, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  she  could  discover  a  man  at  the  back 
guarding  the  door.  The  cry  of  "  Alfred  !  "  escaped  her,  and 
the  unconscious  girl  fell  as  a  dead  weight  upon  the  pavement. 
At  last  a  cold  touch  aroused  her,  the  warm  blood  from  a  newly- 
made  wound  was  trickling  down  over  the  icy  brow,  and  looking 
up  she  saw  the  head  of  a  large  dog  leaning  over  her.  Fully 
awakened  to  a  consciousness  of  her  situation,  she  arose,  and  as 
rapidly  as  the  feeble  strength  would  allow,  began  to  wend  her 
weary  way  homeward.  \  and  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning 
threw  herself  in  an  agony  of  grief  upon  the  floor  of  her  little 
room. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"CM  have  you  uever  known  the  silent  cliarra 
That  undisturbed  retirement  yields  the  soui. 
Whore  no  intruder  might  your  peace  alarm, 
Ami  tenderness  have  wept  without  control. 
While  melting  fondness  o'er  the  bosom  stole 
Did  fancy  never  in  Borne  lonely  grove, 
Abridge  the  hours  which  must  In  absence  roll? 
Those  pensive  pleasures  did  you  never  prove, 
Oh,  you  have  never  lov'd!     You  know  not  what  is  1:70  !  " 

— Mrs.  Tighe's  I'syche. 

'•  On,  La  Belle  !  La  Belle  !  Two  years  and  you  will  be 
ruine  ;  glorious  twenty-one  shall  I  be,  and  then  can  I  walk  from 
one  stately  hall  to  another,  and  say,  thou  art  mine  !  And  Beat- 
rice, my  own  beloved  Beatrice,  shall  it  ever  be  that  you  will 
grace  my  dwelling'.'1  May  I  hope  that  your  musical,  rippling 
laugh  will  ever  ring  through  those  halls  ?  And  yet  I  shall  have 
Lydia,  and  can  know  I  have  her  tenderest  love,  and  she  too  is 
beautiful,  good  and  pure,  but  Beatrice,  beloved  one,  thou  alone 
can  satisfy  the  longings  of  my  soul,  for  thou  art  all  in  the  world 
to  me  !  But  when  again  shall  I  behold  that  face,  and  know 
Beatrice  is  near?  " 

"  And  what  are  your  musings,  Charles,  heir  to  La  Belle  ?  " 
said  Lydia  s  voice  behind  him.  "Now  I  know  your  thoughts 
have  been  exceedingly  pleasant,"  and  she  placed  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  "  I  see  the  influence  of  some  delightful  day-dream 
btili  resting  on  that  countenance.  Pray,  might  I  venture  to  ask 
what  it  was  ?  " 

•'  It  would  do  you  harm." 

"  What,  that  which  makes  you  so  happy,  injure  me  ?  " 
"  Even  so  ;  for  if  I  tell,  I  must  flatter  you." 
"  And  you  think  that  would  injure  me  !  " 
"  Oh,  no,  my  own  sweet  Lydia,  I  know  better  ;   and  let  mfi 
tell  you  I  was  saying,  Lydia  is  beautiful,  good  and  pure." 
"  And  that  was  the  chief  of  your  thoughts ;  "  with  an  arch 
ance. 

The  head  was  turned  away,  and  he  answered  somewhat  mourn- 
fully, "  Lydia,  I  know  my  thoughts  were  uttered  half  aloud, 
I  was  not  aware  any  one  was  near — I  was  off  my  guard." 
Lydia  drew  the  averted  head  to  her  bosom,  and  kissing  the  pale 
lips,  longed  to  tell  all,  that  they  might  mingle  their  tears  of  love 
and  sympathy  together,  and  unite  their  humble  petitions  for  the 
welfare  of  the  unfortunate ;  but  ever  since  the  reading  of  the 


gla 


228  a  spinster's  story. 

will,  Churls  had  been  under  the  influence  of  great  excitement, 
and  she  knew  too  well  the  frail  constitution,  and  the  dangerous 
effect  of  such  unhappy  tidings,  to  allow  her  to  make  him  ac- 
quainted with  the  awful  calamity,  which  she  felt  positive  had 
befallen  the  lovely  i>  latricc. 

"Lydia,"  said  Charles, ps  he  looked  up  into  her  face,  "  there's 
no  one  in  the  wide  world  to  whom  [  could  unbosom  what  [  feel, 
but  you  ;  it  would  grieve  poor  mother  to  know  I  was  unhappy  ; 
and  Lydia,  i  know  too  that  you  will  not  deem  it  weak  and  un- 
manly. I  don't  know  why  1  care  so  much  for  her,  but  I  can- 
not, help  it !  " 

Lydia  hid  the  flushed  face  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  that  he 
might  conceal  the  falling  tear,  and  feel  it  was  un  perceived.  The 
grief  for  Beatrice,  which  Lydia  had.  long  confined  to  the  limits 
of  her  own  room,  now  burst  forth  in  tears  uncontrolled;  but  it 
was  a  relief  to  the  burdened  bosom,  and  by  the  time  the  broth- 
er and  sister  were  called  away,  the  joyous,  hopeful  spirit  of 
Charles  again  cast  a  halo  over  the  little  household. 

Several  came  forward  to  offer  an  annuity  at  a  liberal  interest 
until  Charles  should,  become  of  age,  and  enter  into  the  posses- 
sion of  his  property,  and  as  Mrs.  VUliers'  health  was  much  im- 
paired, when  the  due  arrangements  had.  been  made  with  the 
broker,  the  school  was  abandoned,  and  a  comfortable  house  en- 
gaged in  Berlin,  to  which  they  repaired,  and  the  widow  now  di- 
rected her  attention  almost  exclusively  to  the  education  of  Car- 
lotta.  And  Charles  did  not  go  to  Belgium  as  he  had  expected. 
At  last  his  health  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  established,  and  al- 
though the  widow  sometimes  thought  she  saw  symptoms  of  a 
lurking  disease,  she  endeavored  to  suppose  them  only  a  moth- 
er's fears,  and  that  the  contrary  opinion  of  friends  and  physi- 
cians was  the  right  one. 

Their  relationship  to  the  late  Sir  Charles,  and  their  right  to 
the  estate,  soon  became  known,  and  as  their  society  was  courted, 
they  began  to  be  acquainted  with  the  city  in  which  they  had  ta- 
ken up  their  abode.  They  found  Berlin  to  be  one  of  the  finest 
cities  in  Europe ;  the  situation  flat,  the  streets  wide,  containing 
many  splendid  buildings,  and  that  there  was  much  superior  lit- 
erary society.  Their  invitations,  which  were  numerous,  were  se- 
lected with  discretion,  and  it  was  now  for  the  first  time  that  Ly- 
dia, who  had  become  the  belle  of  a  large  circle,  discovered,  to 
her  sorrow,  that  while  at  the  seminary  of  Madame  de  Florigni, 
she  had  been  robbed  of  a  costly  necklace,  the  gift  of  her  father, 
and  the  only  jewel  witli  which  she  had  not  parted  previous  to 
their  leaving  Philadelphia. 


a  spinster's  story.  229 

They  were  now  in  a  position  to  offer  a  comfortable  and  pleas- 
ant home  to  Beatrice,  shoul  I  she  be  destitute  of  friends,  and  an 
answer  to  a  letter  addressed  by  Mrs.  Villiers  to  the  asylum,  had 
been  long  expected  but  none  came,  and  among  other  fears  if. 
occurred  to  them  that  the  unfortunate  girl  might  have  been 
placed  there  by  the  instigation  of  her  relatives,  who  obtained 
thereby  the  possession  of  her  property. 

It  was  autumn  ;  a  violent  storm  of  wind  and  rain  was  raging 
without,  and  the  evening  was  cold;  in  the  drawing-room  the 
curtains  were  closely  drawn  to  keep  out  the  chilly  blast,  the 
candles  were  lighted,  two  sat  chatting  by  the  cheerful  fire  that 
burned  brightly  in  the  grate,  and  the  room  wore  an  air  of  do- 
mestic and  social  enjoyment. 

"  Lydia,"  said  Charles,  "it  often  occurs  to  me,  that  some 
day  we  shall  have  an  old  acquaintance  of  yours  in  the  pulpit  of 
that  dear  little  chapel  on  our  estate,  I  wonder  whether  you  will 
prefer  him  to  a  stranger." 

Lydia  was  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  few  moments,  then  an- 
swered  quickly;  '' But  I  thought  lie  was  to  return  to  Phila- 
delphia, indeed,  I  have  often  imagined  when  he  has  been  speak- 
ing of  Anna,  that  he  had  a  great  preference  for  her." 

"  He  never  expects  to  return  to  Philadelphia,  Lydia,  and  he 
has  no  preference  for  Anna  ;  there  is  some  one  not  far  from 
me  just  now,  for  whom  he  has  manifested  great  regard  ;  in  fact 
I  have  heard  him  acknowledge  how  intensely  he  loves  her,  and 
how  wretched  he  would  be  had  he  the  slightest  idea  of  his  fu- 
ture home  not  being  gladdened  by  her  constant  presence." 

An  expression  of  pain  pissed  over  the  fair  countenance  of 
Lydia,  and  she  rose  to  leave  the  room. 

11  (  Ki  Lyddie,  love,  don't  go  ;  "  and  Charles  caught  her  dress 
as  she  was  flitting  past  him.  "  I  will  explain,"  and  kneeling 
before  her,  as  he  held  her  fast,  continued.  "  Is  there  no  one 
but  Mr.  Everett,  who  cares  very  much  for  you,  whom  you  would 
consider  worthy  to  take  his  stand  in  that  pulpit?  " 

A  smile  played  over  his  animated  features,  as  he  looked  up 
into  her  troubled  face.  She  immediately  understood  the  purport 
of  his  words,  and  drawing  him  to  a  sofa,  exclaimed,  "  Why, 
Charles,  much  as  I  have  desired  it,  I  never  expected  to  see  you 
a  clergyman  ! :' 

"  Lydia,  I  will  acknowledge  I  think  much  of  Beatrice,  yet  I 
can  say  with  all  truth,  that  I  am  i-csolved  to  make  the  duties  of 
the  ministry  the  great  object  of  my  life.  It  may  be  that  Beat- 
rice is  now  in  Paris,  the  gayest  of  the  gay,  and  seldom  has  time 
to  think  of  us  ;  and  it  may  be  that  I  shall  one  day  see  her  again, 


230  A    SPINSTERS     STORY. 

and  never  regret  the  thoughts  I  have  bestowed  upon  her.  How- 
ever, I  know  all  will  be  for  the  best,  an  unerring  providence 
hovers  over  each  one  of  us,  and  whatever  is  denied  us  is  for  our 
good,  only  we  are  too  blind  to  see  it  so." 

"  O'a,  how  can  you  sit  there  so  unconcerned  ?  "  exclaimed 
Carlotta,  us  she  entered  the  room;  "  Come  to  the  window  and 
watch  the  lightning  !  "What  will  the  poor  in  the  streets  do  dur- 
ing such  a  storm  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Charles  rising,  "  it  is  terrific  ;  listen  !  there's  a 
ring  at  the  bell,  who  can  it  be  on  such  a  night !  What  a  strange 
looking  individual  !  from  his  costume  I  should  suppose  him  to 
be  an  Arab,  or  Turk,  or  else  a  Roman  soldier  ;  from  that  singu- 
lar head-piece  —  in  fact  figuring,  in  those  habiliments,  he  might 
personate  several  characters." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  Lydia,  "  undoubtedly  he  is  some  one 
witli  a  petition,  his  case  must  be  very  urgent  to  call  him  out 
through  this  storm.  But  he  will  not  be  sent  away  from  here 
unheard,  and  I  must  go  and  finish  my  letters  before  tea." 

She  was  passing  through  the  hall,  when  a  maid  put  an  en- 
velope into  her  hand,  and  turning,  she  beheld  the  stranger  they 
had  seen  from  the  window,  standing  before  her. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  young  lady,  but  it  is  for  a  sick 
child,"  said  the  man,  with  a  low  bow. 

Without  examining  the  contents  of  the  envelope,  Lydia  di- 
rectly emptied  her  purse,  and  offered  the  pieces  to  the  stranger. 

li  Thanks  Mademoiselle,  but  it  is  a  favor  I  beg,  and  not  mon- 
ey." A  smile  was  visible  on  his  countenance,  as  he  glanced  at 
the  confused  blushes  that  overspread  the  face  which  was  now 
bent  to  read  the  note.  It  was  from  a  young  lady,  whom  she 
remembered  having  been  introduced  as  the  daughter  of  the 
Count  de  Castello,  and  whom  she  had  met  several  times  during 
her  visits  to  the  different  families  in  Berlin.  She  now  requested 
of  Lydia  the  loan  of  a  French  book  of  tales  for  a  child  who 
was  forced  to  remain  in  one  position,  after  the  setting  of  a  brok- 
en limb.     The  book  was  selected,  and  the  man  departed. 

"  Lydia,  please  go  to  mamma,  she  wants  you  a  moment,  a  let- 
ter has  come  this  morning,  and  it  seems  to  trouble  her." 

Going  into  her  mother's  room,  Lydia  found,  as  Carlotta  had 
said,  that  some  letter  had  troubled  her,  for  her  tears  were  then 
falling  upon  the  sheet  in  her  hand. 

"  Lydia,  it  is  from  the  asylum,  at  last,  but  I  would  have  pre- 
ferred none  to  this.*' 

"  Oh,  tell  me,  ma,  is  she  dead?  " 

"  Lydia,  had  she  died,  I  should  have  felt  less  sorrow  for  her  ; 


A  spinster's   story.  231 

no,  she  lias  not  died.  Sec,  the  note  is  very  brief,  it  only  states 
that  when  she  was  sufficiently  recovered,  a  gentleman  called 
and  took  her  away  with  him,  and  that  she  appeared  alone  in  the 
world,  without  relatives  or  friends.  Poor  girl!  Oh,  Lydia,  I 
would  give  worlds  to  know  where  she  is!  "  and  as  the  widow 
drew  her  own  child  closer  to  her  bosom,  she  again  gave  vent  to 
tears,  nor  were  tears  all  the  mother  and  daughter  offered  in  pity 
for  the  lost  Beatrice;  the  door  was  locked,  and  together  they 
carried  their  sorrows  to  the  foot  of  the  cross. 

"  Lydia,  the  Countess  and  her  daughter  are  in  the  drawing- 
room,  waiting  to  see  you. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  Countess,  as  she  rose  to  meet  Lydia,  "  that 
you  must  be  very  choice  of  your  company,  for  often  when  I 
look  for  a  glimpse  of  Miss  Viliiers  in  the  evening  assemblies, 
I  seek  her  in  vain  ;  but  you  are  already  acquainted  with  my 
daughter  Estelle,  and  I  hope,  as  we  reside  so  near  to  you,  we 
shall  cease  to  be  strangers  to  each  other." 

"  And  I  have  called  to  return  the  book,  and  ask  another  fa- 
vor," said  the  young  lady  Estelle,  as  she  arose  and  extended  her 
hand.  "  I  have  undertaken  to  assist  the  sisters  of  the  Sacred 
Heart  in  this  city,  in  a  large  work  they  have  undertaken,  to  clothe" 
the  poor  during  the  coming  winter,  and  I  am  soliciting  the  services 
of  several  young  ladies  to  join  me.  Although  I  know  you  to 
be  a  protestant  like  ourselves,  I  know  also  that  you  have  suffi- 
cient charity  to  lend  your  aid,  if  you.  are  not  otherwise  engaged  ; 
I  think,  if  those  who  have  promised  will  meet  me  punctually 
three  times  weekly,  to  sew  a  few  hours  in  the  morning,  that  we 
shall  have  the  work  completed  before  the  winter  sets  in,  and  I 
hope  the  time  will  pass  very  pleasantly  ;  one  of  us  will  read 
while  the  rest  sew." 

The  next  morning  found  Lydia  punctual  at  the  house  of  the 
Count  de  Castello  ;  it  was  a  spacious  and  stately  mansion,  wear- 
ing every  appearance  of  elegance  and  wealth  ;  a  servant  in  full 
livery  led  the  way  to  an  apartment  where,  from  a  circle  of 
young  ladies  who  were  busily  employed,  her  new  acquaintance, 
Estelle,  arose  to  welcome  her. 

Estelle  was  probably  about  twenty,  or  twenty-two  ;  of  much 
vivacity  and  very  pleasing  address,  while  an  air  of  dignity  and 
grace  seemed  to  add  to  the  beauty  of  the  frank,  open  counte- 
nance. 

Several  of  the  young  ladies  Lydia  had  met  before,  and  the 
allotted  hours  for  the  work,  passed  rapidly  by  ;  the  bell  rang  for 
luncheon,  the  group  were  led  by  Estelle  to  the  dining-room, 
where  the  count  and  countess  were  ready  to  meet  the  young  cou- 


232  a  spinster's  story. 

tureries  with  a  warm  greeting.  To  strangers  there  was  an  air  of 
austerity  about  the  count,  but  the  manners  of  the  countess  were 
soft  and  prepossessing,  and  gave  evidence  ofhaving  been  a  woman 
of  great  captivating  powers;  Lydia  had  scarcely  spoken  to  her, 
when  Estelle,  drawing  her  attention,  said,  "  Miss  Villiers,  allow 
me  i"  introduce  you  to  my  brother  Clarence." 

As  Lydia  turned  and  beheld  the  tall  figure,  and  glanced  into 
the  noble  countenance,  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  seen  the 
face  before,  but  she  could  not  recollect  where,  and  as  such  thoughts 
seldom  troubled  her  a  second  time,  momentarily  as  it  had  come, 
so  the  idea  passed  away. 

Among  their  acquaintances  in  Berlin,  there  was  not  a  family 
in  whom  the  Villiers  seemed  to  take  such  delight  as  that  of  the 
Count ;  why,  Lydia  scarcely  knew,  but  there  was  a  fascination 
about  that  dwelling,  that  haunted  her  even  when  away,  and 
often,  after  picturing  a  beau  ideal  of  excellency,  she  retired  to 
drean;  of  the  tall,  handsome  figure  that  moved  in  the  mansion 
of  the  Count  de  Castello. 

Winter  was  advancing,  and  at  whatever  party  or  entertain- 
ment Clarence  and  Estelle  attended,  Charles  ami  Lydia  invari- 
ably joined  their  number,  and  the  acquaintance  soon  ripened 
into  a  closer  intimacy. 

It  was  an  old  custom  of  the  Count's,  to  give  a  ball  upon  the 
anniversary  of  his  wedding  day,  which  was  in  the  middle  of 
December,  and  this  year  Mrs  Villiers  and  her  children  were 
prevailed  upon  to  attend.  The  most  fashionable  of  Berlin 
crowded  the  brilliantly  lighted  saloons,  and  as  it  grew  later,  the 
air  of  the  room  in  which  Lydia  stood,  became  oppressive,  and 
Clarence  led  her  to  his  mother's  boudoir,  which  they  found 
empty.  He  was  called  away  for  a  few  moments,  ami  on  return- 
ing, Lydia  was  sitting  by  a  window  looking  out  upon  the  moon- 
lit scene  below  ;  but  the  face  was  thoughtful,  almost  to  sadness, 
and  it  was  evident  her  thoughts  were  not  where  the  eyes  were 
riveted.  For  a  moment  he  stood  and  gazed  upon  that  counte- 
nance, then  approached  her,  and  as  his  footfall  fell  upon  her  ear 
she  started  from  her  reverie,  and  seeing  him  before  her,  turned 
from  the  casement,  and  made  some  ordinary  observation  upon 
the  evening.  But  Clarence  still  stood  the  same  immovable 
statue,  gazing  intently  upon  her.  At  last  bending  over  her  he 
said  in  a  low  tone,  "  Lydia  a  beggar,  asks  relief,  are  you  will- 
ing to  grant  it '(  " 

"I  am  not  prepared,  I  have  no  money  with  me;  "  and  she 
looked  inquiringly  into  the  earnest  countenance. 

"  Lydia,  once  upon  a  cold,  stormy  night  last  autumn,  you 


A    SPIXSTEIl's    STOKT.  233 

kindly  offered  this  beggar  the  contents  of  your  purse  ;  now  this 
same  beggar  pleads  for  what  he  prizes  far  more  than  riches,  and 
Lydia,  will  you  refuse'.''  " 

There  was  a  silence,  but  their  eyes  met,  and  as  he  bent  lower 
to  hear  the  voice,  her  lips  moved. 

But  Lydia  has  oof  recorded  in  her  journal  what  she  said,  and 
how  could  an  old  lady,  who  never  poured  gentle  words  into  the 
ears  of  a  lover,  be  supposed  to  know  what  girls  usually  say  on 
such  occasions? 

"  Clarence,  I  want  to  see  you  a  moment,"  said  the  Count  one 
morning,  as  he  drew  him  into  his  dressing-room  and  closed  the 
door.  "  I  wish  to  know  something  about  this  fair  Lydia,  and  I 
trust  my  son  will  pardon  a  father's  curiosity." 

Chrence  bowed  respectfully,  and  when  they  were  seated,  the 
Count  continued,  "I  believe  you  to  have  some  thoughts  of  this 
Lydia,  and  their  position  in  society  is  very  good,  they  are  near 
relatives  of  old  Sir  Charles  Villiers,  but  that  is  not  all,  are  they 
rich,  poor,  or  what  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  inquired,  sir,  for  that  would  make  no  difference 
to  me  ;  I  have  sufficient,  all  I  want  is  Lydia." 

"Clarence,"  and  a  deep  sigh  escaped  the  Count  as  he  drew 
nearer  his  son,  "  four  years  ago  when  you  reached  your  majority, 
you  agreed  to  loan  me  the  fortune  left  by  your  uncle,  that  I 
might  unite  it  with  Estelle's  for  speculation,  and  I  know  I 
promised  to  consult  with  you  before  parting  with  it ;  but  I  have 
beeu  rash,  there  seemed  an  excellent  opportunity  to  invest  it  in 
railroads,  and  Clarence,  my  son,  it  is  gone  —  almost  irrevocably 
lost,  for  there  can  be  no  returns  for  many  years  1  " 

An  expression  of  agony  passed  over  the  young  man's  face  ; 
he  arose  from  his  seat,  and  leaning  against  the  wall,  exclaimed 
with  an  effort  that  evinced  the  painful  struggle  within,  "  Is  it 
even  so,  father  !  "  and  again  seating  himself,  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  Count,  as  he  stood  before  him,  and  with 
a  painful  expression  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  as  if  to 
control  the  agitation  working  in  the  perturbed  brain  beneath, 
"  you  know  my  pride,  and  can  appreciate  the  effort  it  costs  me 
to  acknowledge  to  you  that  I  have  erred,  and  ask  pardon."  The 
young  man  eagerly  caught  the  extended  hand,  no  thought  of 
upbraiding  passed  within  his  bosom,  his  self-possession  failed  not 
in  this  hour,  and  having  calmed  himself  to  composure,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Father,  it  cannot  be  recalled,  say  no  more  !  " 

The  festivities  of  the  evening  illumined   the  mansion  of  the 


l2:j  i  A   BPlNSTJSft's   S1UKV. 

Count  de  Castello,  but  in  his  room  and  alone,  the  noble  Clar- 
ence paced  the  floor  in  all  the  wretchedness  of  despair.  That 
Lydia's  love,  was  unsullied  by  a  vain  ambition,  and  that  she  was 
ready  at  any  moment  to  share  his  portion,  however  limited  it 
might  he,  he  was  fully  confident;  but  if  it  were  true  that  Lydia 
had  nothing,  he  could  not  offer  himself,  a  penniless  competitor, 
with  the  many  affluent  suitors  who  surrounded  her,  to  oblige 
her  to  live  in  poverty  for  eight  on  ten  successive  years,  and  the 
case  was  hopeless ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"The  fountain  of  my  heart  dried  up  within  me,— 
With  nought  that  loved  me,  and  wiih  nought  to  lore, 
I  stood  upon  the  desert  earth  alone, 
And  in  that  deep  and  utter  agony. 
Though  then,  than  ever,  most  unfit  to  die, 
I  fell  upon  my  knees  and  prayed  for  death." 

A  month  had  passed  since  Alfred's  misfortune,  and  astonish- 
ing and  frightful  was  the  change  it  had  wrought  in  Anna.  The 
emaciated  form,  the  pallid  countenance,  and  the  expression  of 
suffering  that  rested  upon  it,  told  all  who  saw  her  that  Anna 
was  fast  drooping  to  the  grave.  She  arose  at  her  usual  hour, 
seldom  spoke  to  any  one,  and  mechanically  performed  the  work 
of  the  household  imposed  upon  her,  although  many  wondered 
how  the  feeble  frame  found  strength  for  the  purpose. 

Could  she  but  have  heard  of  Alfred,  and  known  he  was  yet 
alive,  it  seemed  she  would  have  been  less  wretched ;  and  again 
it  would  occur  to  her,  could  she  hear  he  was  dead  and  released 
from  his  troubles,  her  sufferings  would  be  less  poignant ;  and 
yet  he  might  die,  and  she  never  know  anything  of  it,  for  she 
never  saw  any  one  to  ask,  as  she  seldom  left  the  house,  and 
since  Susan  had  not  been  able  to  read  without  spectacles,  the 
newspaper  no  longer  visited  them,  and  all  journals  were  out  of 
Anna's  reach,  unless  she  undertook  the  painful  task  of  paying  a 
visit  to  the  little  phenomenon  of  a  man,  upon  whom  she  looked 
as  the  source  of  all  her  misfortune ;  and  then,  after  dragging 
the  weary  limbs  that  long  distance,  she  often  was  doomed  to 
sit  an  hour  by  the  bed-side  of  that  miserable  object,  to  endure 
the  annoying  declarations  of  his  love,  while  he  kept  fast  hold 
of  her  dress,  and  then  plead  in  vain  for  the  newspaper  ;  either 
her  feeble  voice  was  not  heard,  or  the  understanding  of  the  lit- 


a  spixster's  story.  235 

tlo  old  man  and  his  mother,  which  was  never  very  brilliant,  did 
in  it  comprehend  her  meaning.  And  thus  passed  the  dark  mo- 
notonous  days  of  gloomy  sorrow,  scarcely  knowing  whether  she 
lived  in  the  world  as  she  once  had,  or  whether  some  mighty 
change1  had  come  over  her, —  only  a  sort  of  living  death  seemed 
to  have  taken  possession  of  the  soul.  An  indescribable  horror, 
visible  oidy  to  herself,  appeared  to  haunt  her,  as  she  passed  from 
room  to  room,  performing  as  from  instinct  the  various  menial 
and  more  responsible  duties  which  Susan  had  laid  out  for  her. 
Sometimes  it  would  occur  to  her,  that  to  move  once  again  amid 
the  busy  world  without,  would  enliven  her  energies,  and  awak- 
en those  faculties  that  had  so  long  lain  dormant;  then  watch- 
ing her  opportunity,  she  would  hastily  throw  on  her  apparel, 
ami  steal  from  the  house.  But  once  among  the  passing  throng 
of  the  streets,  it  seemed  as  though  each  one  she  met  was  famil- 
iar with  the  history  of  Alfred,  and  that  every  eye  was  riveted 
upon  her,  as  one  upon  whom  some  awful  condemnation  had 
fallen,  while  none  appeared  to  look  to  pity,  only  to  censure  and 
reproach  ;  and  pausing,  not  knowing  which  way  to  turn,  a  be- 
wildered sense  of  her  misery  and  the  world's  unkindness  would 
overwhelm  her,  and  with  a  step  as  rapid  as  her  exhausted  limbs 
would  allow,  she  would  hasten  again  to  that  dismal  abode,  to 
pass  as  before  the  hours  of  wretchedness  and  tears. 

On  Sundays,  Susan  always  attended  morning  service,  while 
Mrs.  Gilbert  sat  by  the  fire  in  the  kitchen,  watching  every  move- 
ment of  Anna,  who  never  went  to  church  now  except  wher 
there  was  evening  service,  and  often  when  the  day  drew  to  a 
close,  she  was  too  weary  to  leave  the  house,  and  would  retire  to 
her  little  room  to  pass  the  remaining  hours  in  weeping  and  prayer. 

On  several  occasions,  and  once  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
she  made  her  way  to  Susan,  and  kneeling  before  her  as  she 
clasped  the  hands  of  the  unfeeling  woman  in  her  own,  entreat- 
ed to  be  told  where  Alfred  was ;  but  Susan's  reply  was  always 
the  same  :  u  It's  no  use  to  tease  the  very  life  out  of  me  about 
that  boy,  I  tell  you  he's  out  of  your  reach,  as  to  where,  I  neith- 
er know  nor  care  ;  and  never  ask  any  one,  for  as  sure  as  you 
mention  his  name  outside  this  door  you  will  repent  of  it." 

For  many  a  long  day  no  one  had  honored  the  house  with  a 
visit,  except  the  indefatigable  Miss  Pyke,  and  one  afternoon, 
as  Anna  caught  a  glimpse  of  Kate  upon  their  steps,  it  seemed 
as  though  a  glance  at  a  youthful  face  and  figure  inspired  her 
with  animation. 

"  Well,  Anna,  you  see,  after  staying  away  for  an  age,  the 
careless,  giddy  little  Kate  is  once  again  within  your  dingy  domi- 


236  A    SPIXSTEU'S    STOUT. 

cile.  How  have  you  been  ?  Have  you  heard  any  news  lately? 
How  long  is  he  to  be  away  now'.'1  Do  you  ever  see  that  poor 
miserable  unfortunate,  that  bed-ridden  mortal?  Oh  what  a 
happy  escape  that  wasfor  you  !  Bui.  the  idea  that  he  still  talks 
of  being  married  is  really  too  absurd,  and  although  his  poor  old 
mother  says  he  .-nil' red  most  acutely  when  the  remains  of  his 
spindle  shanks  were  amputated,  it's  impossible  to  pity  him. 
Just  imagine,  in  addition  to  his  innumerable  incurabilities,  a 
pair  of  wooden  legs  to  supply  the  place  of  those  inestimables 
he  left  on  the  railroad.  I  declare  such  a  mass  of  miserable 
matter  is  enough  to  disgust  the  greatest  philanthropist  on  earth. 
But,  Anna,  you  do  look  so , very  wretched !  I'm  sure  I'd  do 
anything  in  the  world  to  make  you  happy  ;  but  I  don't  believe 
you  take  what  little  comfort  you  might.  There,  do  sit  down  here, 
girl,  and  let  that  sour-looking  Susan  wait  for  her  starch,  or 
whatever  it  is, —  you  seem  to  have  been  immerged  in  the  mysteries 
of  the  laundry.  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  I  should  have  been 
here  before,  but  I  went  to  visit  my  aunt,  and  inform  her  that 
my  wedding-day  is  very  near,  that  she  might  have  time  to  con- 
sider what  to  present  me  with  on  that  occasion.  But  I'm  afraid 
I  need  not  expect  much,  for  she  still  grieves  over  the  loss  of 
her  black  satin  bonnet.  Oh,  but  let  me  tell  you  about  Mr. 
Hunt.  He's  tall,  handsome,  quite  wealthy,  a  perfect  gentleman, 
and  just  what  I  wanted  in  every  respect,  and  from  this  moment 
to  the  end  of  my  days,  I  shall  be  one  of  the  happiest  beings  in 
the  world ;  oh,  and  I  must  tell  you  too,  that  he  is  in  the  firm 
where  Alfred  was,  and  when  I  spoke  to  him  of  your  brother, 
he  seemed  very  much  troubled,  and  quite  wretched  when  I  told 
how  unhappy  you  were  and  how  much  you  loved  each  other. 
That  proves  what  a  tender,  compassionate  heart  he  has  ;  in  fact, 
I've  found  the  mention  of  your  misfortune  grieves  him  so  much, 
that  now  I  never  broach  the  subject.  Have  you  beard  lately 
from  our  Prussian  friends  ?  I'm  very  anxious  to  hear  of  Lydia, 
and  that  none-such  of  an  Everett,  for  I  always  thought  him  one 
of  those  fellows  who  have  an  ideal  of  perfection  in  their  minds, 
and  live  their  life-time  a  bachelor  looking  in  vain  for  the  reality. 
Yesterday,  I  heard  from  good  authority  that  he  vowed  never  to 
return  alone  to  Philadelphia  ;  so  if  he  comes,  (and  it  is  expected 
he  will,)  Lydia  will  come  with  him.  How  much  I  should  like 
to  know  whether  she  really  likes  him !  Sometimas  I  have 
thought  there  was  a  little  fascination  iu  every  fellow,  but  oh, 
gracious,  no  !  that  cannot  be, — just  think  of  Barrow  !  Well,  I 
must  go,  for  I've  an  immense  deal  of  shopping  to  do  ;  pa  says 
L'm  to  have  all  I  want,  he  is  so  glad  to  get  rid  of  of  inc.     But 


a  spixster's    story.  237 

Anna,  I  do  believe  you  are  going  to  die  like  poor  Minnie,  you 
look  so  wretched  ;  I  know  it's  because  you  are  alone  so  much, 
ami  I  really  would  come  in  much  oftener,  but  you  know  what  a 
dislike  I  have  to  anything  that's  gloomy.  Oh,  how  long  I  have 
stayed  !  Good-by." 

Frivolous  as  was  the  merry  Kate  with  her  baubles,  still  her 
visits  seemed  a  sunny  gleam  to  dispel  for  a  while  the  cloud  of 
ennui  that  hung  so  heavily  over  Anna,  and  even  after  the  gai- 
ety had  tripped  away,  it  was  as  though  she  had  left  in  the  room 
where  she  had  stood,  a  lighter  and  more  cheerful  atmosphere, 
that  pervaded  it  for  the  remainder  of  that  day.  And  this  time 
she  had  suggested  the  idea  of  Lydia's  return,  and  bright  and 
beautiful  was  the  thought  as  Anna  pictured  Alfred's  release, 
and  saw  once  ai^ain  the  Lydia  she  loved  so  well,  and  felt  the  in- 
fluence of  her  happy,  joyous  spirit,  that  ever  seemed  to  shine  as 
a  halo  round  the  circle  of  which  she  was  always  the  centre. 
But  the  voice  of  Susan  banished  the  transitory  joy,  again  the 
painful  sense  of  a  dark  and  gloomy  sorrow  threw  its  heavy  man- 
tle rouud  her,  and  hope  had  fled  as  if  for  ever. 

It  had  often  occurred  to  Anna,  could  she  communicate  with 
their  father,  and  acquaint  him  with  the  misfortune  of  his  son, 
had  he  any  tenderness  remaining  in  him,  it  would  be  immediately 
called  forth ;  and  one  afternoon  when  Susan  was  in  one  of  her 
indifferent  moods,  Anna  embraced  the  opportunity  for  asking 
what  direction  had  formerly  found  her  father,  and  was  glad  to 
hear  the  answer,  "  Well,  if  you  want  it,  get  it,  only  don't  trou- 
ble me  any  more,  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  it,  you 
can  burn  it  if  you  like." 

The  direction  was  in  her  father's  hand  ;  it  was  the  first  she 
had  seen  of  anything  that  pertained  to  him,  and  as  she  traced 
letter  after  letter,  and  read  again  and  again  her  name  upon  the 
paper,  she  wept.  Of  her  father  she  had  a  very  faint  reccollec- 
lion,  and  until  lately,  had  thought  comparatively  little  about 
him,  but  she  had  longed  to  know  the  history  of  her  mother. 
From  her  portrait,  she  had  without  doubt  been  called  beautiful, 
and  we  are  often  inclined  to  imagine  some  melancholy  story  of 
deep  interest  secreted  in  the  fate  of  such  an  one,  and  feeling 
sure  her  biography  was  an  unhappy  one,  she  believed  it  to  be 
Providentially  veiled  from  her  forever." 

But  the  letter.  It  required  much  effort ;  yet  at  last  it  wa3 
finished  It  was  a  touching  epistle  ;  the  anguish  of  a  soul  was 
poured  out  upon  its  pages,  and  many  tears  bedewed  the  sheet  as 
she  proceeded.  It  told  of  the  talents  of  Alfred,  of  his  noble 
bearing,  of  the  false  accusation,  and  the  final  sentence  of  con- 


238  a  spixstek's   story. 

demnation  ;  of  the  love  and  attachment  of  the  brother  and  s;3- 
ter,  and  the  painful  separation,  and  lastly  of  her  own  wretched* 
ness,  with  an  earnest  appeal  to  his  sympathies  as  a  father,  to 
come  and  relieve,  ere  they  both  perished. 

In  anxious  suspense  the  answer  was  awaited,  but  none  came. 
Another  month  passed,  yet  no  tidings,  and  as  a  last  resource, 
Anna  determined  as  far  as  lay  in  her  power,  to  watch  the 
newspapers,  hoping  to  find  some  day  a  clue  to  the  mysterious  si- 
lence of  her  father. 

The  first  opportunity  that  offered  for  this  purpose,  was  on  a 
clear,  frosty  afternoon,  when  she  had  assured  herself  that  Mrs. 
Gilbert  and  daughter  were  safely  locked  in  the  arms  of  Mor- 
pheus, and  having  placed  near  the  chair  of  each  an  herb  which 
the  old  lady  used  for  prolonging  the  afternoon  naps  of  Susan, 
when  she  was  in  a  very  bad  humor,  Anna  stole  from  the  house, 
and  by  the  time  she  had  reached  the  dwelling  of  Robert  Bar 
row,  Esq  ,  the  invigorating  air  had  braced  and  refreshed  her. 

Finding  it  useless  to  refuse,  she  at  last  yielded  to  the  en- 
treaties of  Mrs.  Barrow,  and  ascended  to  the  sick-room  of  the 
bedridden  son.  The  atmosphere  of  the  chamber  was  close 
and  fetid,  various  singular  remedies  of  the  old  lady's  having 
combined  in  producing  an  exceedingly  unpleasant  odor  ;  the 
peruke  of  the  poor  little  man  had  fallen  upon  the  pillow,  and 
the  whole  interior  of  the  room  was  disagreeable  in  the  extreme  ; 
but  there  was  no  retreat,  and  keeping  as  far  as  possible  from 
the  bed,  she  silently  took  a  seat. 

Presently  the  head  of  the  invalid  was  raised,  the  little  eyes 
blinked,  and  at  last  a  small  whining  voice  said, — 

"  Oh,  Anna  dear.  I  have  been  dreaming  of  you,  love.  Come 
near  to  me,  darling,  I  want  to  tell  you  how  these  doctors  have 
chopped  and  hacked  me  about  ;  but  they  say  the  flesh  may  soon 
heal,  and  my  new  legs  are  being  made,  so  Anna,  darling,  you 
need  not  despair,  we  shall  be  happy  again  as  we  once  were, 
when  I  hurried  away  in  such  high  a;lee  to  <ret  the  Groomsman, 
little  thinking  what  would  befall  me.  But  never  mind,  Anna 
dear,  all  will  yet  be  well,  and  just  as  soon  as  the  ceremony  is 
over,  we  will  have  a  second  trial  for  Alfred,  and  he  will  then  be 
liberated." 

Anna  started  from  her  seat  at  the  words,  and  as  if  desirous 
to  know  whether  she  had  heard  aright,  approached  the  bed,  and 
bending  over  the  shrivelled  little  man,  exclaimed, — 

'•  Liberated  !     What,  Alfred  ?     When  ?     Where  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  darling,  it  shall  be  just  as  I  say,  and  immediately  the 
bony  arms  encircled  her  neck,  and  for  awhile  she  was  forced  to 


a  spinster's  story.  239 

yield  herself  a  victim  to  a  repetition  of  those  odious  caresses 
from  the  loathsome  object  before  her. 

Feeble  as  Anna  was  for  wrestling,  the  strength  of  the  poor 
little  man  soon  failed  him,  and  he  could  struggle  to  hold  her  no 
longer.  With  a  wild  air,  as  if  bent  upon  some  design,  she  har- 
ried from  the  room,  hastily  glanced  at  a  paper  she  found  below, 
and  left  the  house. 

Either  the  herbs  had  produced  the  desired  effect,  or  for  once, 
fortune  had  favored  Anna,  for  the  sleepers  were  in  their  chairs 
as  she  had  left  them,  and  consequently  would  not  know  of  her 
absence.  The  herbs  were  placed  again  on  the  top  of  a  high 
closet,  where  Mrs.  Gilbert  always  secreted  them,  and  by  the 
time  she  had  prepared  the  tea,  the  sleepers  awoke.  Anna,  as 
usual,  ate  nothing,  and  having  placed  the  tea-things  carefully 
away,  under  the  instructions  of  Mrs.  Gilbert,  who,  upon  every 
such  occasion  declared  she  had  had  them  ever  since  her  wedding- 
day,  which  certainly  could  not  have  been  very  recent.  Anna 
fled  to  her  room,  and  after  standing  sometime  as  one  bewildered 
and  perplexed,  sat  down  to  collect  the  scattered  senses,  and  con- 
template again  the  project  she  had  in  view.  But  the  longer  she 
dwelt  upon  it,  the  more  excited  she  became  until  she  knew  not 
what  she  thought  or  did.  Was  it  true  that  there  yet  remained 
a  means  of  helping  Alfred?  And  what  sacrifice  would  be  too 
great  ?     None. 

It  was  now  night,  yet  Anna  had  no  thought  of  rest ;  com- 
pletely unnerved,  and  trembling  from  the  bodily  weakness  un- 
der which  she  labored,  she  paced  the  floor  of  her  room  in  wild 
desperation.  There  came  a  strange  sound  upon  the  stairs,  she 
started,  and  listened, —  it  was  as  of  some  one  weeping  ;  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert and  Susan  never  wept,  or  at  least  if  they  did,  the  grief  was 
altogether  inward,  and  left  no  manifestations  upon  the  surface  ; 
spell-bound  to  the  spot,  she  stood  breathless  as  she  listened,  and 
though  so  eager  to  learn  why  it  was,  whether  it  could  be  Alfred 
or  not.  she  possessed  no  power  to  move  forward.  But  soon  her 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  as  Anna  looked  up,  she  gazed  in 
mute  astonishment  upon  the  object  before  her. 

In  all  the  dishevelment  of  frantic  grief,  weeping  profusely, 
while  deep  sighs  and  loud  groans  escaped  her,  stood  or  rather 
reclined  against  the  wall,  none  other  than  Miss  Sarah  Christi- 
ana Pyke.  The  strange  spectacle  at  that  late  hour,  fully  aroused 
Anna,  and  completely  drew  her  out  of  herself.  Forgetting  her 
own  troubles,  she  immediately  inquired  the  cause  of  this  great 
distress,  but  Miss  Pyke  made  no  answer,  and  continued  bewail- 
ing as  before.     Alarmed  at  her  singular  behavior,  aud  thinking 


240  a.  spinster*  s  story. 

some  catastrophe  must  have  befallen  them  below  stairs,  Anna 
ran  to  the  dining-room,  and  Susan,  as  though  aware  of  her  er- 
rand, exclaimed, — 

"  01),  L  don'l  know  what's  the  matter  with  her,  you  must  do 
the  best  you  can  by  yourself,  for  I  always  keep  out  of  all  such 
weeping  and  wailing  ;  and  if  she  goes  into  a  fit,  why,  let  her 
alone  until  she  comes  out  of  it,  that's  all." 

As  Anna  was  returning  with  some  water  to  the  sorrow- 
stricken  individual,  loud  screaming  might  be  heard  through  the 
house,  and  on  reaching  the  room  she  found  her  visitor  in  violent 
hysterics.  Going  up  to  her,  and  putting  her  hands  upon  the 
trembling  woman,  she  inquired, — 

"  Pray  do  tell  me  what  troubles  you,  Miss  Pyke,  perhaps  I 
can  assist  you." 

"  No  one  can  help  me  —  Mr.  Long  is  dead." 

"  Oh,  it  is  very  sad  to  lose  a  friend,  but  do  try  to  compose 
yourself, —  I'm  very  sorry  he  died." 

"  But  I  am  not  at  all  sorry,  it's  just  what  I  should  have 
wished." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Miss  Pyke  ?  " 

But  another  flood  of  passionate  tears  was  the  only  answer. 

Anna  used  every  means  she  knew  of  to  calm  the  distracted 
woman,  and  at  last,  after  much  wearying  exertion  she  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  her  a  little  composed,  and  having  wiped 
away  her  tears,  she  said, — 

"  You  see,  Anna,  if  I  could  only  have  known  that  he  would 
have  died, —  and  why  didn't  I  think  that  as  people  die  any  day, 
the  life  of  Mr.  Long  might  be  very  short !  Oh  dear,  if  I  had 
only  known  he  would  die  so  soon  !  " 

"  But  how  could  a  death  beuefit  you  ?  " 

"  Anna,  you  don't  understand  ;  the  matter  is  this  :  Mr.  Long 
wanted  me  very  much.  I  could  not  describe  to  you  the  ardor 
and  enthusiasm  with  which  he  always  made  his  declarations, 
and  he  told  me  exactly  how  wealthy  he  was, —  oh  yes,  he  was 
very  candid  to  me  !  and  you  would  be  astonished  at  his  riches. 
Oh  yes,  I  should  have  been  all  that  is  enviable  by  this  time." 

"  And  why  did  you  refuse  him  '!  " 

"  Wasn't  he  always  in  a  state  of  inebriety,  and  never  sober. 
But  as  he  was  to  die  so  soon,  that  would  not  have  mattered. 
Oh  yes  !  If  I  could  only  havo  thought  that  he  would  have 
died  !  He  had  no  relations,  and  I  should  have  bad  all  his 
wealth.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear  !  Why  didn't  I  take  him  at  all  haz- 
ards, even  if  his  friends  did  say  '  your  head  wont  be  long  on 
your  shoulders.'     If  I  had  only  arranged  it  so  that  his  will  was 


a  spinster's  story.  241 

made  previous  to  the  wedding,  then  if  he  could  have  dropped 
down  dead  as  we  came  out  of  the  church,  how  delightful  it 
would  have  been  !  And  besides,  widow's  weeds  would  become 
my  complexion  so  well,  for  I  should  look  so  very  pathetic  in 
full,  deep  mourning.  Oh  dear  !  If  I  had  only  known  lie  would 
have  died  !  I  shall  never  survive  it,  no  never !  I  may  not 
have  such  an  offer  again  ;  oh,  it  is  more  than  I  can  bear !  An- 
na, I  shall  make  away  with  myself,  I  know  I  shall  !  " 

Alarmed  at  her  rash  words  and  distracted  manner  as  she  rose 
to  go,  Anna  strove  to  detain  her,  and  continued  to  entreat  her 
to  be  more  composed,  that  she  might  think  less  desperately  of 
the  case. 

"  Anna,  it's  no  use  to  talk  to  me)"  and  she  pushed  the  sym- 
pathizing girl  from  her.  "  I  need  condolence  from  those  of  my 
own  age,  and  came  here  expecting  to  find  it  in  Susan ;  for  when 
she  lost  all  hope  of  Mr.  Everett,  I  always  expressed  the  deep- 
est sympathy  for  her  disappointment,  but  all  she  said  to  me  af- 
ter coming  this  long  distance  was,  '  Sally  Pyke,  don't  make 
such  a  ludicrous  object  of  yourself, —  the  man's  dead,  you  can't 
have  him,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.'  Now  what  sympathy  was 
there  in  that  ?  But  I  cannot  stay  here,  I  cannot  rest,  for  mine 
is  a  very  delicate  distress,  that  few  can  enter  into  ;  and  Anna, 
if  you  hear  of  something  very  romantic,  don't  be  surprised,  for 
it's  very  likely  I  shall  be  found  drowned  in  the  cistern  before 
long,  or  something  of  the  sort." 

Anna  endeavored  to  retain  her  hold  of  the  frantic  woman, 
but  she  was  too  powerful  a  combatant  for  her  feeble  strength, 
and  she  soon  found  her  words  were  lost,  for  the  distracted  Miss 
Pyke  was  out  of  hearing. 

Anna  returned  to  her  room  ;  soon  all  thoughts  of  her  visitor 
had  flown,  and  she  sunk  again  into  her  own  sad  and  gloomy 
reverie. 

The  means  for  liberating  Alfred  lay  open  before  her,  it  await- 
ed only  her  consent,  and  he  was  saved  ;  yet  there  arose  a  strong 
will  within  to  oppose  her  yielding.  She  would  ponder  the  mat- 
ter again,  and  —  decide. 

She  was  still  irresolute  when  the  head  drooped,  and  sleep  was 
fast  enwrapping  the  perturbed  senses  ;  she  aroused  herself,  and 
endeavored  to  place  some  determination  upon  paper,  but  the  pen 
dropped  from  her  hand,  the  weary  head  drooped  lower  and  low- 
er, and  soon  Anna  had  fallen  into  slumber. 

She  dreamed  ;  and  bright  sunny  rays  and  dark,  heavy  clouds 
variegated  the  scene,  as  they  alternately  cast  their  light  and 
shadow  upon  the  vision.  Solitary  and  alone,  she  was  wendiug 
11 


242  A    SPINSTER'S    STOEY. 

ber  way  at  night-fall  through  much  brushwood  and  many  a  din- 
gle in  search  of  some  Losi  treasure;  often  the  brambles  entan- 
gled ber  footsteps,  and  impeded  her  way  ;  still,  perseveringly 
she  pressed  onward,  and  came  to  a  pit;  looking  down  she  be- 
held the  object  of  her  search,  for  there  was  Alfred.  In  an  ec- 
stacy  of  joy  she  was  about  to  leap  down  to  him,  and  fold  her 
arms  once  again  round  the  beloved  form,  when  a  well-known 
■  came  up  from  the  pit  and  said,  "  Anna,  help  me  !  "  The 
anus  were  outstretched  towards  her,  but  the  pit  was  deep,  and 
in  despair  she  looked  round  for  assistance  ;  none  presented  it- 
self, and  in  an  agony  of  despair  she  was  throwing  herself  upon 
the  earth,  when  a  ray  of  light  fell  upon  the  scene,  and  she  saw 
by  her  side  a  barrow  filled  with  what  appeared  leaves  and 
branches.  It  was  old,  and  discolored  with  time,  the  timbers 
were  shattered  and  decayed,  while  as  it  stood  there  rotting  away, 
it  was  loathsome  to  the  eye,  and  she  shrank  from  the  idea  of 
touching  it.  The  light  shone  brightly  upon  it,  and  she  now  saw 
that  where  it  stood  was  a  garden  filled  with  the  good  things  of 
earth,  and  that  the  barrow  was  so  heavily  laden  with  choice 
fruits  as  to  sink  deeply  into  the  earth,  and  make  a  firm  hold- 
fast with  which  she  could  support  herself  with  one  hand,  while 
with  the  other  she  rescued  Alfred.  Seeing  it  was  the  only 
means  within  her  reach,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  it ;  it  was  cov- 
ered with  crawling  insects,  and  the  cold,  damp  touch  chilled  her 
to  the  heart ;  yet  as  she  looked  upon  Alfred,  she  grasped  it 
more  tightly,  and  with  a  slight  effort,  the  lost  one  was  by  her 
side  ;  but  he  was  exhausted  and  faint,  and  could  scarcely  speak 
to  her;  she  brought  some  water  from  a  fountain  that  played  in 
the  garden  where  the  barrow  stood,  and  having  bathed  the  pale 
face  he  revived  ;  as  her  anxiety  for  him  lessened  she  discovered 
the  hand  which  clasped  the  barrow  had  withered,  but  Alfred 
took  it-  between  his  own,  and  his  ardent  kisses  soon  restored  it. 
They  then  sat  down  together,  and  leaning  against  the  barrow, 
ate  from  the  good  things  with  which  it  was  filled.  As  she  con- 
tinued to  feed  him,  she  saw  with  delight  that  his  strength  and 
spirits  were  returning,  and  as  she  laid  her  weary  head  upon  his 
breast,  her  happiness  was  complete. 

Falling  from  her  chair  to  the  floor,  awoke  her.  It  was  past 
midnight,  but  she  took  no  thought  of  time,  and  after  standing 
for  awhile  with  her  hand  to  her  forehead  as  if  in  painful  medita- 
tion, she  descended  to  the  floor  below,  and  knocked  loudly  at 
the  dour.  Fur  a  lung  time  there  was  no  answer,  at  last  the  key 
was  tinned,  and  the  bolts  were  drawn  back,  the  door  was  open- 
ed  a  little  way,  and  the  night-cap  and  curl  papers  of  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert appeared. 


a  spixster's  story.  243 

"I'm  going  to  be  married  !  "  said  Anna,  as  she  pressed  for- 
ward to  enter  the  room. 

The  old  lady  gazed  at  her  a  few  moments  in  mute  astonish- 
ment, then  ran  to  the  bed  whore  Susan  lay  loudly  snoring;  and 
suddenly  shaking  the  sleeper,  screamed  at  the  top  of  her  voice, 
"  Susan,  make  haste  and  gel  up,  she's  going  to  elope  !  " 

Startled  at  being  disturbed  at  that  dead  hour  of  the  night,  as 
soon  as  Susan  awoke,  she  rose  up  in  the  bed,  and  looked  with  a 
bewildered  air  round  the  room.  Anna  was  now  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  and  stood  with  her  hands  folded,  saying,  "  Yes,  Su- 
san, I'm  going  to  be  married,  I  was  not  willing  before,  but  now 
I'm  quite  ready." 

"  Bless  the  child,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  what  does  she  mean  ! 
The  girl  knows  no  one,  how  can  she  be  married  '( " 

"  Indeed,  I  am  willing,"  repeated  Anna,  "  and  then  Alfred 
will  come  back,  and  I  shall  be  no  longer  wretched  ;  let  us  go 
now,  do  please,"  and  she  caught  hold  of  the  night-clothes  of 
Mrs.  Gilbert.   "  I  can't  wait,  for  Alfred  is  very  miserable  !  " 

Susan  now  sprung  from  the  bed,  and  taking  Anna  by  the 
shoulders  exclaimed,  "  Deceitful  girl  !  and  so  you  have  had 
secret  communications  with  some  one,  tell  me  his  name,  explain 
the  whole  affair,  or  you  never  leave  this  room  while  I'm  alive." 

"My  dear,  tell  us  the  gentleman's  name!"  said  Mrs.  Gil- 
bert in  a'mild  tone,  for  when  once  the  lion  within  Susan  was 
roused  her  mother  became  very  gentle  and  submissive  ;  "  his 
name,  that  is  all." 

Anna  looked  bewildered  for  a  few  moments,  then  returning 
to  her  subject  continued  :  "  Barrow  is  ready,  and  I  am  willing  be- 
cause of  Alfred, —  Why  wont  you  come  !  " 

"  Oh,  now  I  begin  to  understand  you,"  said  Susan,  as  she  re- 
linquished her  hold,  and  gazed  at  her  in  amazement  ;  "  but  I 
declare  you  are  enough  to  drive  me  mad.  When  the  man  was 
whole,  there  was  no  such  thing  as  getting  you  near  him,  and 
now  he  has  been  cut  about  until  there's  nothing  left  of  him, 
you  come  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  wake  every  body  up,  to 
let  them  know  you've  taken  a  notion  to  marry  the  old  fellow. 
Why  couldn't  you  wait  till  the  morning,  and  not  frighten  the 
wits  out  of  me  in  this  manner  ?  I  do  believe  the  girl's  beside 
herself!" 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  ventured  the  old  lady  to  her  angry  daugh- 
ter, "  you  know  that  epieer  Sally  Pyke  has  been  here,  and  I'm 
sure  I  heard  her  go  into  hysterics,  and  I  dare  say  she  fright- 
ened the  poor  girl.  I  know  when  Sally  takes  those  turns  she  is 
very  strange  ;  it's  as  good  as  a  play  to  look  at  her." 


214  a  spin"stee's   btort. 

By  this  time  Susan  bad  followed  Anna  to  her  room,  where 
she  remained  until  the  excited  girl  had  undressed,  and  laid  the 
aching  head  on  her  pillow. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"Iam  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord:  lie  that  believeth  in  mo, 
though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  ;  and  wh  (soever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me 
shall  never  die." 

"Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  but  we  will  not.  deplore  thee, 
Though  sorrow  and  darkness  encompass  the  tomb; 
Thy  Saviour  hath  pass'd  through  its  portal  before  thee, 
Ami  tin;  lamp  of  His  love  is  thy  light  through  the  gloom. 
Thou  art  gone  to  the  grave,  but  we  will  not  deplore  thee, 
Whose1  God  was  thy  ransom,  thy  guardian,  thy  guide; 
He  gave  thee,  Be  took  thee,  and  He  will  restore  thee, 
Aud  death  hath  no  sting,  for  the  Saviour  hath  died." 

"  Come  Charles,  the  opera  begins  at  half  past  six,  if  you  are 
coming,  it's  time  you  closed  that  book." 

"  Oh  Lydia,  I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  shall  remain  at 
home  this  evening,  for  you  know  I'm  going  with  that  party  of 
young  fellows  to  Geneva,  and  when  I  come  back  Mr.  Everett 
will  have  returned  from  his  tour,  and  then,  Lydia,  we  start  for 
Oxford,  where  I  hope  I  shall  in  due  time  be  prepared  for  holy 
orders ;  so  if  I  wish  to  finish  this  course  of  reading,  I'd  better 
do  it  at  once." 

"  And  I  shall  stay  at  home  too, —  just  think  how  long  you  will 
be  away  !  "  Lydia  took  her  seat  beside  him,  and  as  she  lifted 
the  face  from  the  book,  and  brushed  aside  the  thick  clusters  of 
rich  auburn  that  concealed  the  fine  forehead,  a  tear  fell  upon 
the  volume. 

"  But  Lydia,  love,  indeed  I  would  have  you  go  ;  don't  you 
know  we  each  have  our  own  sphere,  and  if  it  is  yours  to  move 
in  society,  should  you  be  dead  to  all  that  is  passing  round  you, 
just  because  it  is  mine  to  sit  in  a  study  and  pore  over  volumes  ? 
No,  Lydia  ;  the  field  for  usefulness  is  as  extensive  in  your  circle 
as  ever  mine  may  be,  and  I've  often  pictured  to  myself  my  own 
Lydia  shining  as  a  beacon  above  the  follies  and  foibles  of  fash- 
ionable life,  and  after  mingling  with  the  gay  and  the  dissipated, 
remain  the  same  unsophisticated  Lydia  as  ever,  that  her  name 
unsullied  by  the  baubles  of  empty  vanity,  might  be  handed  down 
to  her  posterity- as  an  example  of  all  that  is  good  and  great  in 
woman.  No,  Lyddie,  you  must  go  to  the  opera  ;  a  young  ar- 
tiste is  to  make   her  debut  to-ni<rht.     I  believe   I've   heard   her 


a  spinster's   story.  245 

voice  is  charming  and  her  stylo  exquisite  ;  you  have  a  taste  for 
such.  Go,  and  let  me  hear  what  you  think  of  her.  Bere's  the 
Count's  carriage,  and  T  see  Clarence  with  Bstelle,  now  poor 
Charles  may  busy  himself  with  his  books,  for  Clarence  is  all  — 
everything;  and  I'm  not  sorry,  either,  for  I  like  him  much, 
and  Lydia  may  even  love  him  if  she  wishes,  she  has  my  per- 
mission, which  I  know  she  always  waits  for  in  such  cases  ;  good- 
by." 

Lydia  and  her  friends  arrived  at  the  opera,  the  house  was  al- 
ready  crowded,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  they  made  their  way 
to  the  box  of  the  Count. 

"  This  opera  of  '  II  Confesare,'  "  said  Clarence,  turning  to 
Lydia  as  soon  as  they  were  seated,  "  is  entirely  new,  and  is  said 
to  have  been  arranged  by  the  young  artiste  who  takes  the  prin- 
cipal part.  The  argument  is  this.  Palma  is  a  Spanish  noble- 
man, whose  daughter,  Violetta,  is  the  fiancee  of  a  young  mer- 
chant at  Naples  ;  Palma,  who  has  a  secret  plot  in  view  for  his 
daughter,  declares  the  intention  of  destroying  his  life  if  Violetta 
will  not  abandon  all  thought  of  her  favorite  Sebastian.  Violet- 
ta is  terrified  into  submission,  and  while  attacked  by  a  severe 
fit  of  illness,  sends  word  to  Sebastian  that  she  no  longer  cares 
for  him,  and  will  see  him  no  more.  Frenzied  to  learn  the  cause 
of  the  disunion,  Sebastian  seizes  every  opportunity  of  obtaining 
the  satisfaction.  Violetta  recovers,  and  Sebastian  knowing  it  to 
be  her  custom  to  attend  the  abbey  for  vespers  and  to  remain 
after  the  service  for  confession,  after  much  skillful  manoeuvring 
disguises  himself  as  a  priest,  and  officiates  as  such.  The  maid- 
ens come  to  make  their  confession,  and  among  them  is  the  pale, 
broken-hearted  Violetta.  She  tells  of  her  sorrow  ;  of  her  fath- 
er's threat,  and  her  passionate  love  fov  the  young  Sebastian  ;  he 
still  assumes  his  disguise,  and  bids  her  wait  until  the  other  con- 
fessors have  retired,  when  he  can  the  more  effectually  console 
her.  She  remains,  and  when  they  are  alone  in  the  abbey,  he 
throws  off  his  disguise ;  they  vow  constancy  and  fidelity  for  the 
future,  and  separate.  Palma,  always  on  the  watch,  and  suspect- 
ing some  intrigue,  fears  an  elopement  of  his  daughter,  and  to 
carry  out  his  own  secret  intention,  gives  his  consent,  and  pre- 
tends to  rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  the  union.  Sebastian  is  away 
on  a  voyage.  Palma  intercepts  his  letters,  and  Violetta  hearing 
he  still  lives,  believes  him  unfaithful,  and  gives  herself  over  to 
despair,  while  Palma  forges  her  hand,  and  sends  a  letter  to  Se- 
bastian declaring  her  betrothal  to  a  cousin  ;  and  lastly,  in  another, 
enclosed  a  notice  of  the  marriage.  Still  glowing  with  love,  yet 
tortured  by  jealousy,  Sebastian  cruises  abroad,  endeavoring  to 


246  a  spinster's  story. 

dissipate  his  grief,  while  Violetta,  goaded  almost  to  madness  by 
ilicitations  of  ber  father,  refuses  to  accept  an  offer  urged  by 
him,  and  in  preference  enter-  a  convent  and  takes  the  veil.  She 
becomes  d  srang  1.  and  carries  a  stiletto  secreted  in  her  bosom. 
One  evening  a  way-worn  traveller  stops  at  the  gate  of  the  con- 
to  learn  the  way  to  the  abbey  ;  Violetta  sees  him  from  a 
window;  and  making  her  escape,  follows  him.  It  is  early,  the 
vesper  bell  is  just  beginning  to  toll,  the  candles  are  not  yet  light-  ^ 
e  1  upon  the  altar  ;  she  enters  through  a  back  door,  and  con- 
ceals herself  behind  the  confessional  box.  The  worshippers 
have  departed,  and  the  traveller  kneels  before  the  confessor  ; 
Violetta  recognizes  Sebastian.  He  tells  of  his  unhappy  fate  in 
losing  his  idol  Violetta,  and  the  load  it  still  leaves  upon  his  heart. 
A  gleam  of  reason  flashes  upon  the  mind  of  the  wretched  girl, 
she  recollects  the  past,  and  especially  the  veil  which  has  been 
taken,  and  her  vows  to  remain  in  the  convent  for  the  rest  of  her 
life.  She  rushes  forward,  while  those  in  the  abbey  gaze  in  be- 
wilderment upon  the  maniac  before  them.  In  her  despair  she 
tells  her  tale  of  woe,  and  none  dare  to  oppose,  she  turns  to  Se- 
bastian and  calls  upon  his  name,  he  recognizes  her,  but  before 
he  can  reach  the  aisle  in  which  she  stands,  her  wild  laudi  rin^s 
through  the  abbey,  and  glancing  a  smile  upon  him  she  plunges 
the  stiletto  into  her  bosom.  Her  friends  are  soon  upon  the  spot, 
where  they  behold  the  bleeding  Violetta  in  the  arms  of  the 
faithful  Sebastian.  Her  reason  returns  for  a  few  moments,  she 
pardons  her  guilty  father,  again  breathes  her  vows  to  Sebastian, 
again  hears  the  words  of  his  love,  and  while  offering  a  prayer  to 
the  Madonna,  Violetta  expires.-" 

"The  music  of  this  opera  is  much  admired,"  said  Estelle. 
"  The  principal  choruses  and  all  the  solos  are  the  compositions 
of  this  young  prima  donna,  who  lias  become  such  a  favorite  in 
so  short  a  time,  for  last  night  was  her  debut  in  Berlin  ;  she  is 
very  young  and  cannot  have  performed  long ;  she's  a  stranger 
here,  however,  and  I  think  she  must  be  une  francaise,  from  the 
name." 

Lydia  glanced  indifferently  at  the  bill,  suddenly  it  fell  from 
her  hui  1< ;  again  she  raised  it  to  her  eyes, — yes,  there  was  the 
name,  Mile.  Sauvestre.  Clarence  was  now  speaking  with  his 
t,  and  for  a  few  seconds  she  was  left  to  her  owe  thoughts; 
Charles,  Beatrice,  then  Charles  again  presented  themselves  as 
subjects  for  due  consideration.  "  But  what  is  there  in  a  name," 
said  she  to  herself,  "it  is  not  possible  this  young  stranger  can 
be  the  lonely  unfortunate  of  whom  I  am  thinking  !  "  and  by  the 
time  Clareuce  turned  to  her  again,  she  had  recovered  her  self- 
possession. 


A    SPIXSTEU'S    STORY.  247 

The  orchestra  took  their  seats  ;  the  last  notes  of  the  overture 
had  died  away, —  the  curtain  rose;  this  scene  was  where  Palma 
was  alone  in  his  study,  ami  in  the  fury  of  his  rage,  vowing  ven- 
geance upon  the  young  Sebastian,  semis  for  Violetta,  that  she 
might  hear  his  decision. 

The  him-'  wis  now  crowded  to  excess,  and  all  seemed  wait- 
in--  impatiently  the  appearance  of  the  young  prima  donna.  A 
servant  had  been  dispatched  for  Violetta,  all  gazed  intently  at 
the  further  end  of  the  stage.  Slowly,  amid  the  deafening  salu- 
tation of  the  audience,  V"ioletta  approached,  courtesying  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  applause.  The  blushing  beauty  came  near- 
er, and  there  stood  —  Beatrice. 

The  play  proceeded.  As  Violetta,  she  knelt  before  her  obdurate 
father,  and  implored  him  to  hear  her  ;  the  notes  were  low,  but 
exceedingly  sweet  and  touching,  as  she  sung  with  an  expression 
of  deep  feeling.  On  hearing  his  desperate  threat,  she  became 
much  agitated  and  excited,  and  rising  to  her  feet,  besought  him 
in  all  the  agony  of  he'r  despair  to  relent ;  her  voice  became 
stronger  as  she  now  seemed  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  piece, 
and  as  she  warbled  forth  the  full,  rich  notes,  the  clear,  beautiful 
strains  vibrated  the  house.  It  was  indeed  a  rare  voice,  light 
and  elastic,  and  yet  so  powerful.  Finding  her  father  immovable 
in  his  decision,  turning  from  him,  she  faced  the  audience  ;  the 
color  had  faded  from  the  cheek,  the  canto  sunk  into  a  minor,  yet 
the  full  dark  eyes  glistened  more  brightly,  and  as  she  warbled 
a  farewell  to  the  absent  Sebastian,  the  natural  tears  rolled  dowii 
the  pale  cheeks,  and  soon  the  fainting  Violetta  was  borne  from 
the  presence  of  her  angry  father. 

The  next  scene  was  the  Abbey  where  Violetta  makes  the 
confession  of  her  love  to  the  disguised  Sebastian.  It  was  here 
that  the  young  favorite  so  greatly  excelled,  the  blush  upon  her 
cheek  came  and  went,  until  the  whole  countenance  glowed  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  her  song.  Then  followed  scenes  of  the  in- 
quisition, into  which  the  hazardous  spirit  of  Sebastian  had  led 
him  ;  and  when  Beatrice  again  appeared  it  was  where  Violetta 
is  received  into  the  convent  and  takes  the  veil.  This  scene  was 
very  imposing,  where  the  inclinations  of  the  unhappy  girl 
wrestled  with  this  duty  of  her  religion.  The  abbess  and  her 
nuns  were  in  their  robes,  and  the  harmony  of  their  voices  as 
the}r  welcomed  the  trembling  Violetta  to  their  midst,  was  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful.  The  piece  proceeded,  the  last  scene  was 
over,  the  curtain  fell.  Again  ami  again  was  the  favorite  ap- 
plauded. As  she  came  before  them,  she  appeared  tired,  ami 
smiled  faintly  as  she   acknowledged  the   enthusiasm  of  the  vuit 


248  A    SPIXSTEIt's    STORY. 

assembly,  that  had  been  so  highly  gratified  with  the  perfection 
to  which  she  had  carried  the  part  of  the   maniac 

But  upon  the  whole,  how  did  the  beautiful  Beatrice  appear 
after  her  Bad  misfortune?  The  form  had  lost  its  roundness, 
still,  except  whore  the  character  of  the  scene  called  forth  sad 
emotions  which  she  so  admirably  depicted,  the  face  wore  a  com- 
parative glow  of  health.  But  she  turned  to  them  for  the  last 
time  ;  then,  amid  the  bouquets  that  impeded  her  progress,  she 
passed  from  their  view,  and  Beatrice  was  gone. 

Lydia  stood  gazing  in  the  direction  where  she  had  vanished  : 
she  said  nothing,  while  a  thousand  conflicting  emotions  agitated 
her  bosom,  and  not  feeling  equal  to  relating  her  story  of  Beat- 
rice, she  concluded  it  best  to  be  silent. 

"  Well,  Lyddie,  how  do  you  like  the  new  prima  donna?  " 
inquired  Clarence,  as  they  rose  to  go. 

"  Oh,  a  most  charming  creature  !  "  replied  Lydia  with  her 
usual  vivacity,  and  pleased  to  delight,  yet  sad  to  melancholy, 
she  pressed  on  with  her  companions  amid  the  dense  throng  to 
the  doors,  while  on  all  sides,  compliments  were  continually  paid 
to  the  young  artiste. 

On  returning  home,  Lydia  found  her  mother  writing,  but  the 
pen  dropped  from  her  fingers,  as  she  heard  from  the  lips  of  the 
excited  Lydia,  the  tidings  of  Beatrice. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  when  the  story  was  finished,  "  we  must 
know  more  about  her,  my  dear,  before  Charles  renews  the  ac- 
quaintance ;  so  we  will  not  mention  the  circumstance  to  him ; 
but  to-morrow,  when  he  has  started  with  his  companions,  we 
will  go  together  and  find  her?  In  the  meantime  I  hope  he  will 
not  hear  her  name,  for  if  so,  we  are  undone." 

Lydia  had  retired,  and  the  widow  sat  contemplating  alone. 
"  Beatrice,  the  lovely  Beatrice,  an  actress  !  with  that  beautiful 
face,  and  bewitching  manner,  what  temptations  must  surround 
her,  as  she  stands  alone  in  the  world  in  such  a  public  profession  ! 
Are  there  not  those  for  ever  on  the  watch  to  allure  such  an  one. 
only  to  corrupt  and  abandon,  leaving  her  unprotected  to  bear 
the  taunts  and  reproaches  of  a  censuring  community  ?  Oh, 
Beatrice,  so  unsuspicious,  so  confiding,  how  ill-suited  you  are 
for  such  a  sphere  !  And  yet  were  Beatrice  as  she  once  was,  I 
could  rest  satisfied  that  her  character  would  remain  unblemished, 
for  '  God  is  faithful,  who  will  not  suffer  you  to  be  tempted  above 
that  ye  are  able,  but  will  with  the  temptation,  also  make  a  way 
to  escape,  that  ye  may  be  able  to  bear  it.'  " 

The  following  day,  preparations  for  Charles'  departure  occu- 


A   SPINSTER'S     STORY.  249 

pied  the  early  part  of  the  morning,  and  it  was  late  when  Mrs. 
Villiers  and  Lydia  reached  the  hotel  where  they  were  told  in- 
formation of  Beatrice  might  most  probably  lie  obtained.  "  Mes- 
daraes,"  answered  the  lessee,  to  whom  they  applied,  ''■  Mademoi- 
selle Sauvestre  Left  early  this  morning  to  fulfill  an  engagement 
in  London.     I  know  of  no  way  of  tracing  her." 

Saddened  by  the  disappointment.  Lydia  sought  her  own  room 
as  soon  as  they  reached  home,  and  was  sorry  to  find  a  note 
from  the  Countess  Castello  requesting  that  she  would  spend  the 
remainder  of  the  day  with  them. 

"  Your  invitations  generally  come  through  Estelle,"  said  Ly- 
dia to  herself  as  she  began  to  dress,  "  I  should  like  to  know 
what  you  want  with  me,  madame.  Oh,  Clarence,  I  wish  you 
were  here  to  chide  your  silly  favorite  for  fearing  to  hear  some- 
thing to  part  you  and  her.  Oh,  Clarence,  why  are  you  such  a 
thief  to  steal  away  so  many  of  my  thoughts  '!  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  the  Countess  as  she  received  Lydia, 
"  punctual  as  usual,  you  set  our  fashionable  belles  an  excellent 
example  ;  but  please  come  into  my  boudoir,  I've  something  to 
say  to  you,  to  any  one  in  fact  who  ever  feels  an  interest  in  our 
Clarence."  The  face  of  the  Countess  assumed  a  graver  expres- 
sion, and  she  continued,  "  Miss  Lydia,  thinking  you  might  pos- 
sibly have  a  regard  for  my  son,  I  thought  it  but  proper  to  inform 
you  that  he  has  expressed  a  preference  for  a  young  lady  of  whom 
we  all  approve,  and  I  am  confident  she  loves  him  ;  now  Miss 
Villiers,  I  know  you  are  not  selfish,  and  let  me  ask  if  you  too 
don't  think  it  best  that  no  other  girl  should  visit  us  as  frequent- 
ly as  she?  Oh,  but  don't  get  up  to  go,  pray  be  seated,  L  wish 
to  introduce  her  to  you,  you  can  easily  know  her,  as  she  will 
sit  on  the  right  of  the  Count.      Come,  there's  the  dinner  bell" 

Lydia  suffered  herself  to  be  led  away,  yet  the  words  "  Oh, 
Clarence  !  "  arose  to  her  lips.  And  where  was  Clarence  ?  In 
his  father's  study  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  while  the  Count 
proceeded, — 

"  I  tell  you  this  is  an  excellent  match  for  you  ;  she's  about 

the  same  age  as  that  Lydia,  and  quite  as  handsome  a  girl,  and 

i  she  has,  too,  what  is  far  more  important  in  your  case,  a  nice  little 

fortune  and  a  house  in  the  most  aristocratic  part  of  Berlin  ;  and 

Clarence,  for  your  own  happiness,  I  urge  you." 

'•  Father,  if  you  would  counsel  me  for  my  good,  don't  oppose 
me  where  my  true  happiness  is  centered.  I  will  not  be  rash,  I 
assure  you,  I  will  wait  —  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  will  not  oppose  you,  it  shall  be  your  own  choice  ; 
I  am  convinced  you  will  soon  agree  with  me  that  you  admire 
11* 


250  a  spinster's   story. 

her  as  much  as  your  favorite  Lydia.  Come,"  and  lie  J  row  hia 
son's  arm  within  Ins  own.  "I'm  anxious  to  introduce  you,  and 
Clarence,  remember,  although  I  don't  urge  you,  .'-till,  yon  will 
in  sur  my  extreme  displeasure  by  refusing  this  opportunity." 

A.S  they  left  the  room  they  were  met  by  the  Countess,  who, 
with  a  doleful  expression,  addressed  her  son, — 

"  My  dear,  Lydia  Is  hero  ;  I've  told  her  about  this  young 
girl,  an  1  I  fear  she  feels  it  very  keenly  ;  I'm  exceedingly  sorry; 
but  you  know  it's  all  for  the  best,  it  cannot  be  helped." 

"  Mother,  what  do  you  mean?  You  have  said  what  to  Ly- 
dia ?  "  and  for  a  moment  a  frown  darkened  the  brow,  but  soon 
the  self-control  was  again  apparent,  and  with  a  countenance  ex- 
pressive of  the  painful  emotion  within,  he  followed  them  into 
the  saloon.  Alone,  at  one  end  of  the  room,  sat  Lydia ;  she 
saw  the  Count  and  Countess  approaching,  and  behind  was  the 
pale  face  of  Clarence.  Taking  her  by  the  hand,  the  Count  led 
her  to  the  table  and  placed  her  at  his  right ;  the  footman  had 
been  dismissed,  the  door  was  closed,  and  only  the  four  were 
present.  The  Count  and  his  lady  smiled  as  they  looked  at  each 
other  and  introduced  the  two  between  them,  and  added  in  one 
voice.   "  Now  Lydia,  you  understand  who  the  young  lady  is." 

Clarence  also  understood  the  deception,  but  it  was  evident  as 
be  took  his  seat  beside  Lydia,  that  he  did  not  admire  such  jest- 
ing, and  with  a  calm  dignity  he  proceeded  to  do  the  honors  of 
the  table  in  silence.  Bat  poor  Lydia  found  it  a  less  easy  mat- 
ter to  control  the  rising  emotion  ;  she  had  believed  herself  suffi- 
ciently self-possessed  to  be  proof  against  all  betrayal  of  her  feel- 
ings, yet,  when  for  the  first  time  Clarence  turned  to  her,  and 
she  caught  the  full,  earnest  gaze,  her  self-control  gave  way,  and 
throwing  herself  upon  his  bosom  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,"  said  the  Countess,  I  would  not  have 
pained  you  for  the  world. 

Clarence  led  Lydia  from' the  saloon,  but  soon  they  returned, 
and  the  face  wore  again  the  .bright  smile  of  the  happy  Lydia. 
Having  apologized  to  the  Countess,  the  latter  replied, — 

"  Never  mind,  Lydia,  I  would  not  give  one  of  those  pearly 
drops  for  all  the  strong-minded  women  in  Prussia." 

"  Come,  Lyddie,  to  the  piazza,"  said  Clarence  as  soon  as 
they  had  dined;  Estelle  will  excuse  us  a  few  moments." 

But  Estelle  had  not  been  long  left  to  herself  when  Lydia  join- 
ed her  and  whispered,  "Have  you  no  curiosity?"  and  she 
immeiiatjly  placed  her  hand  upon  her  bosom  where  something 
attached  to  a  chain  lay  concealed. 

"None  whatever;"  though  at  the  samo  time  Estelle  drew 


a  spinster's  BT0R7.  251 

Up  the  chain  and  beheld  painted  in  ivory,  set  round  with  pearls, 
a  miniature  portrait  of  Clarence.  She  restored  it  to  its  hiding 
place,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  her  companion  exclaimed, — 

"  Beloved  Lyddie  !  "  then  as  she  kissed  the  flushed  cheek, 
her  tears  fell  fast  upon  the  neck  of  her  friend. 

"  What,  Estelle  in  tears  ?  " 

"  All,  I've  taught  myself  to  school  my  feelings,  yet  T  cannot 
always  be  the  indifferent  Estelle,  I  must  sometimes  be  miserable, 
and  some  other  time,  when  I  feel  less  wretched,  Lydia  shall 
know  the  cause." 

Al  letter  from  Charles  was  anxiously  expected,  and  at  last  it 
came  ;  yet  it  was  no  source  of  pleasure,  although  it  was  un- 
doubtedly the  intention  of  the  writer  to  pen  it  as  such.  His 
compani  ins  had  been  obliged  to  leave  him  at  a  hotel,  as  he  was 
detained  by  "a  slight  cold"  he  had  taken  at  the  lakes.  But 
the  widow  knew  it  could  be  no  very  "slight  "  indisposition  that 
would  force  the  light  hearted  Charles  to  be  left  behind.  In  a 
little  note  to  Lydia,  he  remarked.  "  Yesterday  I  met  his  rev- 
erence, the  honorable  Everett.  Poor  fellow,  my  suspicions  are 
confirmed,  for  when  I  told  him  of  Clarence  and  you,  which  I 
thought  best  to  do,  he  looked  more  wretched  than  before,  and 
all  he  said  convinced  me  how  much  he  cared  for  the  young  lady 
in  question.  Now  I  know  when  Lydia  is  aware  that  she  alone 
can  remove  the  cloud  of  sorrow  that  hangs  over  this  sainted  in- 
dividual, that  Clarence  will  be  forsaken,  while  in  the  true  spirit 
of  philanthropy,  she  takes  compassion  on  the  devoted  Herbert 
Everett:   Amen." 

Through  written  in  the  jesting  spirit  of  Charles,  there  was 
that  in  it  which  troubled  Lydia  ;  she  respected  Mr.  Everett,  and 
it  grieved  her  to  think  she  was  the  cause  of  his  unhappiness ; 
for  she  would  not  willingly  have  wounded  the  feelings  of  any 
one  ;  still  there  was  nothing  wherewith  she  could  reproach  her- 
self, and  folding  the  billet,  she  endeavored  to  think  no  more  of 
the  minister ;  it  was  not  strange  either,  that  she  thought  often 
of  Clarence,  or  of  the  long  life  they  would  spend  happily  to- 
gether, for  there  came  to  her  no  forebodings  of  the  future  —  she 
knew  nothing  of  the  dark  days  to  come  ! 

The  last  rays  of  a  setting  sun  were  throwing  their  golden 
gleam  over  the  streets  of  Berlin  :  they  stole  through  a  case- 
ment to  radiate  once  again  a  still  chamber  with  their  glorious 
effulgence  of  peace.  There,  around  the  bed  of  the  sufferer, 
knelt  the  afflicted  mother  and  sisters,  keeping  their  silent  vigils 
over  that  youth  of  promise  —  that  son  of  many  prayers ;  for 


252  A    Sl'i.\>i  ;.k  8    STOUT. 

Charles  was  dying.  The  instructor  and  friend,  who,  by  his 
lings  from  the  pulpit,  and  social  intercourse  with  his  be- 
loved pupil,  had  taught  him  the  salvation  of  Christ,  had  remain- 
ed .,-,  irai  days  in  the  chamber  of  the  invalid.  The  last  com- 
munion had  been  administered;  the  thin  hands  of  the  dying 
upilfted,  and  the  eyes  raised  to  Heaven,  while  in  a  chang- 
ed voice  came  the  audible  words,  "Lord, thy  blood  hath  re- 
deemed —  Father,  1  eome  —  Jesus,  receive  my  spirit  !  " 

The  wasted  hands  dropped,  the  eyes  closed  to  them  forever, 
and  ere  the  night  had  departed,  the  soul  had  fled  unto  Him  who 
gave  it. 

"  Clarence,"  said  the  Count  one  day,  as  he  called  his  son 
into  his  dressing-room,  "  I've  learned  that  the  Villiers  have  lost 
all  claim  to  the  property  of  Sir  Charles  through  that  death  in 
the  family,  for  it  was  her  brother  who  settled  that  annuity  upon 
Lydia  ;  so  now  as  she  will  have  no  money,  you  must  give  up 
all  thoughts  of  the  girl.  But  Selina,"  said  he,  calling  to  his 
wife,  "  do  come  and  state  the  case,  as  I  have  an  engagement 
at  this  hour." 

The  Countess  entered,  and  with  a  bewildered  air  took  a  seat 
opposite  her  son. 

"  Oh,  Clarence  my  dear,  for  the  sake  of  your  mother,  do 
break  off  this  engagement  !  Let  me  tell  you,  your  father  has 
gambled,  and  our  very  house  is  mortgaged  ;  now  do  seek  some 
more  fortunate  union,  for  we  must  depend  upon  you  for  our 
maintenance  ;  do,  for  the  sake  of  Estelle  ;  do,  because  it  is 
your  mother  who  asks  it,  promise  to  be  counseled  by  her  who 
Lives  you  so  fondly,  and  would  advise  you  only  for  your  future 
good;"  she  arose,  and  standing  beside  him,  placed  her  jeweled 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  shed  tears  while  she  continued, 
*'  think  of  the  disgrace  if  we  should  be  forced  to  leave  Berlin, 
and  abandon  forever  our  position  in  society." 

"  But  my  dear  mother,  what  happiness  ran  such  afford  '!  But 
I  forgot,  I  know  it  is  your  chief  aim, —  don't  distress  yourself," 
and  he  led  her  to  a  seat,  "  I  will  do  what  1  can."  The  Countess 
paid  no  attention  to  the  deep  sigh  that  escaped  him,  but  con- 
tinued,— 

"  Then  see  Lydia  as  little  as  possible;  she  will  soon  forget 
you,  for  girls  are  all  fickle  little  flirts  when  they  have  the  oppor- 
tunity ;  why,  when  I  married  your  father,  ir  was  only  for  his 
title,  and  although  I  learned  to  love  him  afterwards.  I  cared 
nothing  for  him  at  the  time  ;  and  my  dear,  you  will  allow  me  to 
know  best  about  my  own  sex,  surely.     So  don't  distress  your- 


a  spinster's  story.  253 

self  for  her.  Just  think  how  little  Estelle's  trouble  affects  her 
now,  and  it  is  so  with  all  girls.  And  would  you  have  no  more 
of  the  spirit  of  a  man,  than  to  allow  such  a  trifle  to  annoy  you  ? 
And  Clarence,  my  sou,  do,  I  entreat  you,  endeavor  to  aid  us  in 
our  trial, —  you  may  not  long  have  a  mother  to  ask  it."  Believ- 
ing she  had  gained  the  point,  she  kissed  the  cheek  of  her  son, 
and  left  the  room. 

"  Yes!  "  mused  Clarence,  "it  is  but  too  true;  Lydia  has 
nothing,  I  have  nothing,  and  can  expect  nothing  for  the  next  ten 
years.  What  hope  is  there  for  Clarence  and  the  beloved  Lydia  V 
None  !  "  and  he  rushed  from  the  house. 

It  was  the  time  when  Hungary  sought  to  throw  off  the  Aus- 
trian yoke,  and  establish  a  provisional  government  with  Kos- 
suth for  its  head,  that  the  Emperor  ^Nicholas  of  Russia,  inter- 
posing in  favor  of  Austria,  sent  a  powerful  army  into  Hungary  ; 
then,  while  that  desolating  war  was  raging,  Clarence  de  Castello 
resolved  to  enter  the  Hungarian  army.  He  knew  his  inter- 
course with  Lydia  must  be  broken  off  forever,  and  believing 
that  neglect  on  his  part  would  cause  her  to  cease  to  care  for  him, 
he  constantly  avoided  her,  and  when  by  chance  he  was  thrown 
in  her  way,  his  manner  was  cold  and  indifferent.  But  he  was 
now  to  leave  Prussia,  perhaps  never  to  return ;  and  when  it 
came  to  the  departure,  although  he  had  steeled  his  bosom  to  the 
task,  he  could  not  go  without  seeing  Lydia.  He  hasted  to  her 
dwelling,  and  was  passing  the  back  of  the  house,  when  a  figure 
flitted  across  the  lawn ;  he  stood  and  watched  :  it  entered  a 
little  bower,  and  as  it  turned,  he  recognized  Lydia, —  her  move- 
ments were  languid,  and  the  cheek  j)ale.  His  first  impulse  was 
to  rush  towards  her,  but  instantly  the  thought  arose,  "  What 
consolation  can  I  offer  ?  My  income  will  never  cease  to  be  a 
precarious  one,  and  how  could  I  drag  Lydia,  who  is  so  well 
fitted  for  better  things,  into  poverty  !  How  could  I  love  thee 
and  offer  thee^penury?  "  Lydia's  head  now  drooped,  and  the 
face  was  buried  in  the  folds  of  the  black  robe.  "  Oh,  Lydia  ! 
you  are  wretched  !  but  then  we  must  consider  for  a  lifetime  not 
for  the  present  moment,  and  mother  may  be  right, —  it  may  be 
that  you  can  cease  to  love  me,  you  may  soon  listen  to  the  words 
of  another,  and  if  Lydia  is  happy,  I  shall  be  also."  He  turned 
away,  and  endeavoring  to  control  the  feelings  struggling  within, 
he  joined  his  comrades,  and  set  out  for  Hungary,  to  aid  the  op- 
pressed in  the  cause  of  freedom. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  I  am  a  little  man, 
But  little  men  can  love  :   and  I  have  pour'd 
The  passion  of  my  soul  Into  her  ear, — 
Now  she  consents;  and  oh,  my  joy  is  fall ; 
For,  from  to-morrow's  noon  not  one  can  say 
A  poor,  forlorn,  old  bachelor  I  lay," 

"  A  letter  from  Van  Diemen's  Land  !  "  exclaimed  Susan, 
as  she  rushed  into  ihe  presence  of  Mrs.  Gilbert,  and  startled 
the  poor  old  lady  out  of  her  afternoon  nap  ;  "  so  at  last  the  old 
sinner  has  really  condescended  to  write,  and  I'm  sorry  the  man 
has  come  to  light,  for  now  the  wedding  wont  take  place,  and  I 
could  have  made  more  off  that  Barrow  than  I  ever  can  out  of 
him  ;  however,  it  can't  be  helped,  and  remember,  old  woman,  I 
expect  to  come  in  for  my  share  of  the  profits.  I'm  glad  I  let 
Anna  write  to  him,  for  it's  directed  to  her,  so  must  be  an  answer  ; 
why.  it's  very  heavy." 

"  Oh,  but  Susan,  pray  don't  open  it !  Perhaps  he  is  on  his 
way  home,  and  will  ask  Anna  whether  we  have  been  kind  or 
not ;  so  let  us  give  it  to  her,  for  we  had  better  begin  to  be  very 
good  to  her  now,  and  I  think  the  best  thing  would  be  to  adver- 
tise for  some  of  those  foreign  professors,  because  when  her  father 
sees  their  lono;  beards  and  moustaches,  it  will  seem  as  thouo-u 
we  educated  her  as  he  desired.  Oh,  dear  !  what  account  can 
we  give  him  if  he  comes."  Susan  was  now  upon  the  stairs  call- 
ing aloud,  "  Anna,  make  haste  and  come,  that  affectionate  father 
of  yours  has  written  at  last,  the  old  hypocrite." 

"  Darling,  we  always  wished  to  be  very  kind  to  you,"  said 
the  old  lady  as  Anna  entered,  while  with  a  bewildered  air,  she 
arose  and  took  the  cold  hands  within  her  long  fingers. 

'•  Yes,  Anna,"  added  Susan  rather  flippantly,  "  I  always 
thought  a  great  deal  of  you,  and  when  I've  been  cross,  it  has 
only  been  because  it's  natural  to  me  to  take  those  violent  turns, 
I  know  I'm  very  subject  to  them." 

"  Very  subject ;  "  said  the  old  lady  with  a  sigh. 

"  But  Anna,  why  don't  you  open  the  letter?"  continued  Su- 
san in  an  impatient  tone  ;  "  you  stand  staring  at  the  envelope 
as  though  you  never  saw  one  before." 

"  Oh,  Susan  you've  forgotten  to  be  kind;"  whispered  Mrs. 
Gilbert. 

"  Come,  Anna  dear,"  resumed  the  vehement  woman  in  an 


a  spinster's  story.  255 

altered  tone,  let  me  read  it,  I  know  you  feel  excited  poor  girl, 
and  so  should  f.  only  I'm  not  quite  as  sensitive." 
She  snatched  the  letter  from  Anna,  and  tore  it  open. 
"  Merciful  powers  !  has  it  come  to  thai  ?  Why,  I  never 
knew  anything  like  it.  What  impudence  to  make  one  pay  the 
postage  just  for  that  !  "  and  dashing  the  papers  upon  the  floor, 
she  rushed  from  the  room. 

"  Oh,  is  he  dead  1  "  Cried  Anna,  as  she  lifted  the  scattered 
papers  and  sat  down  to  read.  But  a  disappointment  met  her 
anxious  gaze,  and  she  burst  into  tears.  All  the  envelope  con- 
tained was  the  old  letters  returned.  Secreting  these  in  her  bo- 
som, she  carried  them  to  the  privacy  of  her  own  little  room,  for 
as  she  had  but  one  correspondent  in  the  world  it  was  no  trifling 
matter  for  the  little  recluse  to  have  a  letter  directed  to  her. 

"  Well  Anna,  I  suppose  you  thought  you  would  hear  your 
father  was  coming  back  a  rich  nabob,  and  that  you  would  nicely 
get  rid  of  Barrow;  "  said  Susan,  tauntingly,  as  she  met  Anna 
upon  the  stairs  ;  "  but  you  see  you  were  mistaken,  and  at  last 
will  be  glad  enough  to  have  the  poor  miserable  decrepit.  Ha  ! 
ha  !  you  find  Susan's  word  come  true." 

"  It  makes  no  difference,"  said  Anna  calmly,  "I'm  quite 
willing  to  be  married,  Susan,  for  I  really  don't  care  what  be- 
comes of  me." 

"  And  I'm  sure  I  don't,"  repeated  Susan  to  herself  as  she 
closed  the  door  of  her  room,  "  that  is,  when  once  the  marriage 
is  over,  and  I  have  a  firm  footing  within  that  house ;  for  then 
you  can  die  of  your  despair  as  soon  as  you  like.  And  I  must 
not  forget  that  no  credit  is  due  to  Sally  Pyke,  for  I've  had  all 
the  trouble  of  the  tiresome  old  fellow,  and  so  I  mean  to  take 
good  care  that  she  gains  nothing  for  her  pains.  Well,  matters 
are  just  happening  as  I  wished,  and  after  all,  I  shall  be  a  for- 
tunate creature  for  that  Sally  Pyke  to  envy.  But  I  must  go, 
the  sooner  the  thing  is  settled,  the  better  for  me."  For  a  won- 
der, her  toilet  occupied  but  little  time  on  this  occasion,  and 
"  Miss  Susan  Jemima  Gilbert"  was  soon  announced  at  the  door 
of  Robert  Barrow,  Esq.    . 

"  Well  sir,  you  see  I've  come  to  inquire  after  you  myself; " 
and  placing  a  chair  by  the  bed,  she  began  to  scrutinize  the  little 
object  before  her.  "  I  should  have  been  here  before,  Mr.  Bar- 
row, but  poor  Anna  has  suffered  so.  much  ever  since  your  mis- 
fortune, that  I  was  obliged  to  remain  at  home  in  order  to  con- 
sole the  dear  child  ;  the  thought  of  losing  you  has  made  her  so 
melancholy." 

"  Has  it,  indeed  ?  Well,  I  thought  so  ;  for  she  would  not  have 
come  to  see  me  if  she  had  not  cared  a  jrrcat  deal  for  me." 


256  A    SPINSTERS 

"Of  course  not;  and  for  her  Bake  I  hope  you  will  recover 

ore  1"!)".  1 1 1 > w  soon  do  you  suppose  your  poor  flesh  may 
heal?'' 

"  Oh  —  why  —  well  —  you  sec  — " 

"  La,  mercy  !  no  sir,  thank  you,  I  don't  wish  to  see  — " 

••  You  see,  I  often  have  a  relapse." 

"  i  >h,  exactly  sir,  yes,  certainly,  of  course  you  do,  I  under- 
stand. Hut  why  do  you  wait  to  get  well,  sir?  Surely  you  can't 
care  so  much  for  a  ceremonious  wedding,  with  a  great  parade, 
if  it  were  plain  and  quiet,  it  would  afford  as  much  comfort  in 
the  end." 

"  Then  could  I  be  married  in  bed  ?  "  with  joyful  surprise. 

•■  What's  to  hinder  you,  when  you  are  not  able  to  get  up  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  shall  be  to-morrow  !     Yes,  to-morrow  !  " 

"  Very  well,  sir,  then  that  is  arranged  ;  and  you'll  find  it  a 
great  comfort  to  have  a  wife,  as  you  are  so  ill,  for  certainly  a 
bedridden  bachelor  is  one  of  the  most  forlorn  spectacles  on  this 
stage  of  existence,  and  I'm  very  glad  it  is  in  my  power  to  re- 
lieve you,  sir." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Gilbert,  you  are  very  kind,  Miss  Gilbert, 
thank  you." 

"Perfectly  welcome,  sir;  to-morrow  at  twelve  we  shall  be 
here  :  good -day,  sir." 

Tt  was  now  twilight  ;  Anna  was  sitting  in  Alfred's  little  room, 
a  spot  where  she  often  loved  to  linger,  and  picture  to  her  fancy 
the  beloved  form  that  had  so  long  enlivened  those  narrow  limits 
with  it's  joyous  spirit ;  suddenly  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and 
Susan  stood  before  her. 

"  You  must  have  heard  me,  Anna,  I  know  you  stay  up  here 
on  purpose  to  give  me  the  trouble  of  coming  up  all  these  stairs  ; 
come  down  instantly,  I've  been  to  Barrow,  and  it's  to  be  at 
twelve  o'olock  to-morrow,  so  you  must  make  haste  and  finish  that 
embroidery  for  me  ;  "  and  she  turned  to  go. 

"  Susan,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  and  as  Anna  caught  hold  of 
her  dress  she  looked  imploringly  into  the  face  of  the  angry 
woman.  # 

'•  Didn't  you  say  you  were  willing  to  be  married  ?  "  and  be- 
coming  more  infuriated  she  seized  the  affrighted  girl  by  the 
shoulders.  "  Anna,  it's  of  no  use  for  you  to  make  another  ado 
about  it,  you've  given  your  consent,  and  now  if  I  have  to  drag 
you  through  the  streets  to-morrow,  married  to  old  Barrow  you 
shall  be;"  and  tearing  herself  from  the  nervous  grasp,  Susan 
descended  to  the  tea-table,  and  finding  all  prepared  to  her  sat- 


a  spixster's   story.  257 

isfaction,  concluded  it  would  bo  best  to  leave  Anna  entirely  to 
herself  until  the  morning. 

It  was  nearly  midnight,  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  and  Susan  were 
soundly  sleeping,  when  the  bell  rang  violently  ;  the  old  lady 
was  the  first  to  awake,  and  believing  it  to  be  a  mistake,  troubled 
herself  no  more  about  it,  until  the  ringing  was  repeated,  when, 
fearing  the  wire  would  be  broken,  she  immediately  aroused  her 
daughter  :  "  Susan,  who  can  it  be  at  the  bell  at  this  hour  of 
the  night?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  Some  intoxicated  fellow,  I  suppose, 
who  can't  find  his  own  door,  men  are  always  at  something;  " 
and  she  settled  herself  to  sleep  again  to  dream  of  the  morrow. 

"  But  Susan  —  the  bell  will  be  ruined." 

"  And  what  if  it  is  ?     Is'nt  Anna  to  be  married  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  must  be  some  one  very  much  intoxicated,"  resumed 
the  old  lady,  "  I  dare  say  Mr.  Long  used  to  make  just  such  a 
noise  at  Sally  Pyke's  door  ;  yes,  men  are  very  troublesome  crea- 
tures. There's  the  bell  again, —  dear  me,  what  can  the  fellow 
want  here?     Susan,  I  think  I  shall  get  up." 

"  Well,  why  don't  you,  instead  of  talking  about  it,"  and  she 
rather  roughly  assisted  the  tottery  old  lady  from  the  high,  old- 
fashioned  bedstead,  to  the  floor. 

Having  gained  her  footing,  Mrs.  Gilbert  unbolted  the  door,* 
and  going  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  called  in  a  loud  tone, — "  An- 
na, there's  a  drunken  man  at  the  door,  get  up  and  send  him 
away,  for  I'm  afraid  to  go." 

Anna  soon  appeared,  her  face  was  bathed  in  tears,  and  as  the 
lamp  light  fell  upon  her  the  pale  countenance  wore  a  most 
wretched  expression. 

"  What  is  it  ma'am  ?  "  inquired  she  through  her  tears. 

"  Why,  don't  you  hear  him  at  the  door  ?  go  dear,  and  send 
him  away."  She  looked  over  the  baluster  as  Anna  descended 
to  unfasten  the  door,  and  soon  she  saw  it  open,  when  the  tall, 
stout  figure  of  a  man  pressed  forward  into  the  passage. 

"  Oh,  Susan  !  he  has  come  into  the  house  !  I  think  I  hear 
him  say  '  Miss  Gilbert — '  perhaps  Mr.  Long  didn't  die,  and 
he's  come  to  see  you.  How  shall  we  turn  out  such  a  great 
fellow?" 

"  Then  it  can't  be  Mr.  Long,  for  he  was  very  short  and  thin." 

By    this   time   Susan  was  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  in  a 

commanding  voice  screamed,  "  Anna,  why  don't  you  send  him 

:  way  ?"      But' as  she   descended  she  beheld   Anna  enfolded  in 

the  arms  of  the  stranger. 

*"  What  can  Anna  mean  ?  "  escaped   the  affrighted   old  lady, 


258  a  spixstek's  stoky. 

"  perhaps  she  has  agreed  to  go  away  with  some  one,  or  could  it 
be  Alfred  on  stilts?  boys  arc  always  in  mischief." 

"  Let  her  alone,  sir,"  sai  1  Susan,  going  up  to  the  stranger. 
"  Anna,  how  can  you  allow  it  ?  Stop  instantly,  or  I'll  have  you 
both  turned  into  tin:  street." 

stranger  paid  no  attention  to  her  words,  but  continued  to. 
enwrap  the  slender  form  of  Anna  within  the  folds  of  his  cloak, 
while  he  repeated, — "  My  Cecile's  child,  my  own  Anna!  " 

"  Mercy  upon  us  !  "  exelaimed  Susan  as  she  flew  up  the 
stairs.  "  Why  it's  their  father  !  the  very  man  himself  !  Where's 
my  new  morning  gown,  and  French  cap  I  bought  at  the  fair? 
and  where  could  I  have  put  those  Turkish  slippers?  Go  old 
woman,  and  ask  Anna  for  my  gamboge  cord  and  tassels." 

"  Susan,  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  returned  the  terrified  old  lady, 
"  there's  nothing  in  the  larder  but  a  little  piece  of  coarse,  raw 
beef,  a  roll  and  a  lemon ;  for  you  know,  Susan,  you  ate  all  that 
toast,  and  the  five  eggs  for  your  tea.  Bless  my  soul  !  nothing 
in  the  house,  he'll  certainly  find  out  how  we've  starved  them  ; 
and  he  has  always  paid  so  well,  in  fact  you  know,  Susan,  he  owes 
us  nothing,  for  he  sent  so  much  the  last  three  times  as  to  be  free 
from  debt  for  the  next  six  months  ;  but  you  would  not  take  my 
advice,"  bursting  into  tears,  "  you  would  spend  it  all  upon 
yourself,  and  with  all  that  fine  dress  you  see  yon  couldn't  catch 
Mr.  Everett.  But  what  will  he  say  when  he  hears  we  employ 
no  counsel  for  Alfred,  and  he  always  sending  a  good  round  sum, 
that  would  cover  all  such  expenses  ?  And  what  is  even  worse, 
Anna  being  engaged  to  that  bedridden  Barrow,  and  the  parson 
engaged  and  everything  to  be  there  at  twelve  to-morrow  !  Why, 
Susan  Gilbert,  it  will  be  a  great  wonder  if  he  doesn't  have  us 
both  imprisoned  !  " 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now,  and  don't  keep  up  such  a 
clatter  for  I  want  to  remember  where  I  put  my  cord  and  tassels ; 
i'ts  necessary  I  should  be  dressed,  because  he's  a  widower." 

"  But  we  ought  to  have  some  refreshment,  Susan.  I'll  go  and 
roast  the  beef  and  make  some  lemonade  ;  "  and  the  poor  old 
lady  began  to  totter  down  the  kitchen  stairs. 

hi  due  time  Susan's  toilet  was  made,  and  descending,  she 
found  the  stranger  (who  was  none  other  than  Mr.  Wentworth,) 
had  entered  the  parlor,  and  laid  the  unconscious  Anna  upon  a 
couch.  Taking  a  seat  opposite  the  gentleman,  Susan  began  to 
fan  herself,  waiting  undoubtedly  for  some  attention  from  the 
guest,  but  perceiving  he  was  wholly  engrossed  watching  the 
fainting  girl,  she  threw  down  the  fan,  and  approaching  the  couch 
became  very  assiduous  in  her  endeavors  for  restoring  her.     Soon 


a  spixster's  story.  259 

there  was  a  great  crash  in  the  passage,  then  followed  a  pause, 
after  which  the  tloor  opened,  and  the  old  la  ly  entered  bearing 
a  tray  that  contained  two  slices  of  raw  beef  burnt  black  at  the 
e  Iges,  upon  a  dish  that  would  have  accommodated  many  dozen 
such  pieces,  a  few  broken  glasses,  a  roll,  and  a  large  earthen 
pitcher,  which,  from  the  yellow  pealings  swimming  at  the  top, 
must  have  been  meant  to  contain  an  imitation  of  a  beverage 
styled  lemonade.  Such  was  the  agitated  state  of  the  poor  old 
la  ly's  nerves,  that  the  whole  kept  up  a  continued  clatter,  until, 
as  she  reached  the  table,  her  strength  seemed  exhausted,  and 
the  tray  fell  from  her  hands  with  a  noise  that  shook  the  room. 
She  then  stood  for  several  minutes,  looking  first  at  the  table, 
then  at  the  stranger ;  and  at  last  having  summoned  the  courage, 
said  in  a  tremulous  voice, 

"  Will  you  please  come  up  to  the  table,  sir?  " 
"  No  ;  "  was  the  abrupt  answer,  and  again  he  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  couch. 

Mr.  Frank  Wentworth  was  about  fifty ;  there  was  much  that 
was  austere  and  commanding  in  his  glance  and  manner,  and  a 
very  slight  resemblance  between  himself  and  his  children  seem- 
ed to  exist.  He  was  a  man  of  few  words,  still  there  was  about 
him  the  bearing  of  a  gentleman.  During  the  many  years  of 
his  stay  in  Australia,  he  had  not  once  known  trouble,  until  two 
months  previous,  when  a  malignant  fever  laid  him  prostrate  in 
a  hospital  It  was  then  he  thought  of  his  past  life,  and  not- 
withstanding his  public  career  was  one  of  the  strictest  integrity, 
his  private  history  he  blushed  to  recall ;  and  after  expending  a 
liberal  fortune  among  false  friends,  not  one  came  forward  in  the 
hour  of  need  to  comfort  and  cheer ;  and  as  he  thought  of  those 
whose  fascination  and  wit  had  so  long  captivated  his  fancy,  he 
saw  farther  back,  vividly  engraven  upon  the  tablet  of  his  mem- 
ory, the  image  of  one  who  had  left  her  home  and  kindred,  to 
follow  him  far  across  the  seas  to  a  distant  clime.  He  saw  again 
the  still  chamber  where  the  sorrowing  little  ones  clung  to  the 
bed  of  the  dying.  Again  the  full,  dark  eye  around  which  the 
film  of  death  was  fast  gathering,  was  turned  upon  him,  as  she 
committed  her  darlings  to  his  tender  care  ;  and  he  heard  again 
the  low  words  of  the  vows  he  had  breathed  into  her  ear.  How 
had  he  kept  that  promise?  But  why  repine,  while  remorse  con- 
sumed the  very  soul?  Perhaps  life  remained  to  him,  wherein 
he  might,  in  his  acts  of  the  future,  make  retribution  for  the  past. 
He  was  told  the  hour  when  the  crisis  would  come  to  decide  for 
him  life  or  death  It  came  —  he  recovered ;  and  as  soon  as 
strength  was  given,  set  sail  for  the  home  of  his  children.     Still, 


12G0  A    SPIXSTEU'S    STORY. 

there  was  the  obdurate,  unyielding  will,  the  consequential  air 
of  self-confidence,  until  as  the  invalid  girl  returned  to  con- 
sciousness,  he  heard  the  tale  of  woe,  ami  learned  the  anguish  of  a 
r's  soul;  then  the  whole  man,  before  erect  in  its  self- 
importance,  bowe  I  under  the  weight  of  overwhelming  grief. 

Two  days  had  passed,  and  as  Anna  recovered,  she  saw  the 
anxiety  Mrs  Gilbert  and  Susan  manifested  as  they  dreaded  she 
might  expose  their  treatment;  and  as  their  distress  troubled 
her,  she  took  the  diamond  ring  bestowed  by  the  singular  Bar- 
row, and  giving  it  to  Susan,  declared  she  would  not  mention 
their  unkindness,  or  the  name  of  Barrow,  to  her  father. 

Anna  now  had  a  guardian  and  a  protector,  but  her  trials 
were  not  at  an  end,  for  one  greater  than  any  hitherto  was 
about  to  visit  her. 

Upon  communicating  with  the  authorities  of  the  prison,  Mr. 
Wentworth  found  their  books  in  some  disorder,  occasioned  by 
the  confusion  caused  by  a  recent  fire  in  the  building;  but  there 
was  a  short  record  of  Alfred,  and  what  was  it  ?  He  had  been 
ill  and  had  not  eaten  for  several  days,  and  on  the  morning  pre- 
vious to  Mr.  Wentworth's  inquiry,  the  jailer  found  the  food 
still  untouched  ;  he  spoke  to  him,  but  received  no  answer  ;  on 
entering  the  cell,  he  approached  the  body,  it  was  cold,  and  life- 
less !  In  such  abodes  as  these,  there  is  little  respect  paid  to 
the  dead.  Who  feels  for  the  pauper  and  the  stranger  ?  When 
influence  and  gold  are  not  there  to  bribe,  who  cares  for  the 
friendless  and  unknown?  At  night-fall,  when  the  gloomy 
shadows  east  their  darkened  shade  over  the  vault  of  the  prison 
where  rest  the  earthly  remains  of  those  whose  feeble  strength 
being  inadequate  to  their  temptation,  had  suffered  them  thus  to 
fall,  when  the  last  ray  of  light  was  laded,  the  prison  shroud  was 
wrapped  round  that  form,  which  rough  hands  hastily  placed  i:i 
the  deal  coffin,  and  carried  it  to  the  vault.  Few  indeed  w 
the  prayers,  and  fewer  the  regrets  that  accompanied  it,  as  they 
lowered  it  down  into  its  dark,  damp  resting-place.  No  tear  fell 
to  smooth  the  rough  plank  that  formed  his  pillow,  but  let  n 
hope  that  some  link  in  the  chain  of  humanity  that  binds  man  *  <. 
man  was  touched  to  vibrate  a  chord  within,  and  cause  a  sigh  to  I  Q 
wafted  by  the  chill  air  over  the  tomb  of  the  departed. 

The  body  was  sent  for,  that  the  last  rites  might  be   p 
the  sorrowing  relations.     It  came. 

An  opiate    had   been  administered   to    Anna,  and    she  slept"  ; 
Mr.  Wentworth  deseen  led  to  the  parlor  and  opened  the  di 
In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a  pall,  and  he  gazed  long  upon 
it.      Then  the   hands  were  uplifted  to  heaven,  and  as  the  over- 
v.      I  ning  of  an  agonized  soul,  the  words  broke  forth, — 


a  spinster's    story.  261 

"  Oh,  my  son,  my  own  child,  my  Alfred  !  And  thou  ha?t 
Buffered  for  my  sin!  Oh,  thy  father  is  sorely  punished  in  this 
affliction  !  Would  that  I  could  have  died  for  thee,  and  not  thy 
innocent  head  bowed  with  the  disgrace  that  I  alone  should  have 
borne  !  Oh,  my  son,  would  that  I  could  have  died  for  thee  !  " 
He  leaned  against  the  wall,  and  the  proud  man  yielded  him- 
self to  his  sorrow.  "  Alfred,  my  Cecile's  beautiful  boy,  can  it 
be  that  those  limbs  lie  stiff  and  cold,  within  those  narrow  con- 
fines? Oh,  Alfred!  And  yet  Cecile,  I  did  love  thee,  and 
often  when  about  to  yield  to  temptation,  a  sudden  recollection 
of  thee  would  repel  me  for  a  moment,  but  then  an  invisible 
power  hurried  me  onward,  driving  the  weak  resolution  far  be- 
hind, and  soon  the  fascinations  around  me  threw  the  veil  of  ob- 
livion over  thy  image.  And  couldst  thou,  my  own  beloved 
Cecile,  look  down  from  those  angelic  abodes  to  know  all  that 
has  passed  here,  what  tears,  what  anguish  would  be  thine  ! 
But  no,  sainted  Cecile,  thy  rest  is  in  paradise,  and  no  cloud 
of  sin  and  sorrow  may  enter  to  darken  the  everlasting  light 
that  radiates  thy  glorious  home.  Yet,  why  wast  thou  snatched 
from  me  '?  Thy  love  and  thy  counsel  alone  could  keep  me 
from  the  evil !  And  now  whither  shall  I  go  for  comfort  ?  It 
is  said  there  is  a  balm  for  every  wound,  but  that  is  to  be  found 
at  the  Mercy  Seat  of  Christ,  and  what  do  I  know  of  religion  ? 
Not  once  has  this  knee  bent  in  prayer  since  I  looked  for  the 
last  time  upon  the  countenance  of  Cecile.  But  it  is  not  too 
late  even  now ;  here,  by  the  coffin  of  my  neglected  child,  I  will 
pour  out  my  spirit,  and  He  whose  ear  is  ever  open  to  the 
prayer  of  the  penitent  will,  through  the  merits  of  His  Son,  hear 
even  me  also  !  " 

Prostrate  upon  the  floor  of  that  chamber,  humble  as  a  little 
child  he  poured  forth  the  anguish  of  his  soul,  and  craved  for 
pardon  ;  then  he  stood  and  gazed  upon  the  pall  before  him. 
He  had  imagined  much  of  Alfred  ;  — the  countenance  of  Anna 
was  not  striking,  although  the  expression  was  that  of  a  gentle 
and  submissive  spirit,  yet  the  impress  of  sorrow  was  so  deeply 
engraven  there,  as  to  throw  a  gloom  over  the  whole,  and  shade 
all  that  might  otherwise  have  rendered  the  face  attractive  ;  but 
in  Alfred,  he  pictured  a  youth  of  fine  proportions,  in  whom  the 
beauty  of  Cecile  was  united  with  his  own  strength  and  vigor. 
He  unscrewed  the  coffin  lid,  and  his  tears  fell  upon  the  face  of* 
the  corpse.  What  did  he  behold  ?  A  mass  of  decomposition, 
without  one  lineament  of  the  countenance  remaining  on  which 
his  eye  could  rest.  Encasing  again  the  mouldering  body,  once 
more  the   strong  will  gave  venf  <"o  tears ;  then  he  checked  the 


2G2  a  spixster's   story. 

manifestation  of  grief,  that  he  might  return  to  the  couch  of  the 
sufferer. 

The  day  of  the  trial  arrived,  when  the  cherished  remains 
must  be  laid  in  their  last  resting-place.  Anna  arose  for  the 
first  time  during  ber  illness,  and  Susan  assisted  her  in  putting 
on  the  garb  of  mourning.  Mr.  Wentworth  then  led  her  to  the 
parlor,  where  the  reverend  doctor  stood  ready  to  read  the  fune- 
ral service.  As  they  were  about  to  convey  the  body  from  the 
room,  Anna  arose  and  approached  it,  and  would  have  detained 
the  men  who  were  bearing  it.  but  it  had  been  deemed  best  that 
she  should  not  see  the  body,  and  the  weeping  girl  was  led  from 
the  scene. 

"  Anna,"  said  Mr.  Wentworth  one  evening,  as  he  placed  a 
small  package  in  her  hands,  "  here  is  something  which,  through 
all  my  dissipation  I  have  never  agreed  to  part  with  ;  take  it  and 
keep  it,  T  have  no  other  relict  of  her  except  this,"  producing  a 
small  locket  containing  the  likeness  of  his  wife.  "  I'm  sorry 
I've  no  better  portrait  of  your  mother,  but  I  might  have  had, 
and — "  he  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  while  his  countenance 
told  of  the  remorse  that  was  working  within. 

Anna  was  about  to  relieve  him  by  telling  of  the  portrait  that 
still  hung  in  the  house  of  Robert  Barrow,  but  it  would  be  the 
key  to  all  she  had  solemnly  promised  to  keep  secret;  so,  throw- 
ing her  arms  round  the  neck  of  her  father,  she  only  wiped 
away  the  tear  that  rested  on  his  cheek.  He  arose,  and  taking 
a  little  key  from  a  bunch,  placed  it  upon  the  package,  and  left 
the  room.  The  treasure  was  a  casket  of  jewels ;  there  were 
necklaces,  bracelets,  rings,  and  a  diamond  cross  of  rare  value, 
under  which  lay  a  note  in  her  mother's  handwriting  acknowledg- 
ing to  her  husband  the  gift  of  the  jewel.  Anna  had  scarcely 
begun  to  look  over  the  treasures,  when  Susan,  tapping  gently 
at  the  door,  entered  and  said,  "  A  stranger  is  down  stairs,  An- 
na, waiting  to  see  you." 

On  descending  Anna  found  a  venerable  man,  deeply  furrow- 
ed by  care  and  age,  who,  bowing  respectfully,  thus  addressed 
her ; — 

"  I  come,  Miss  Wentworth,  to  solicit  a  favor.  Will  you  be  so 
kind  as  to  accompany  me,  and  visit  a  young  man  who  desires  to 
see  you;  my  son  is  a  stranger  to  you,  but  please  don't  refuse." 
Seeing  the  speaker  was  much  affected,  Anna  desired  him  to  be 
Mated  ami  rest  awhile.  "  No,  thank  you,"  replied  he,  "  I  must 
not  linger,  for  my  haste  is  urgent.     Do  please,  young  lady,  com- 


a  spinster's  story.  263 

ply  with  my  earnest  request  —  come,  I  ask  only  your  presence 
ut  my  dwelling." 

"  Well,  please  wait  one  moment,  I  will  have  some  one  ac- 
company me." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  must  come  alone  with  me,  I  assure  you,  young 
lady,  my  intentions  are  none  but  the  most  honorable,  and  deep 
affliction  alone  prompts  my  requests." 

The  trembling  hand  brushed  away  the  fast  falling  tears,  and  as 
Anna  looked  into  the  troubled  countenance,  anxious  to  hear  her 
decision,  she  could  hesitate  no  longer,  and  smothering  her  fears, 
hastily  dressed,  and  left  the  house  to  accompany  the  mysterious 
stranger.  After  pursuing  their  way  through  many  a  dreary 
street,  while  her  companion  never  spoke,  Anna  became  alarmed, 
and  inquired  if  they  had  much  further  to  go.  He  made  no 
answer.  Night  was  fast  gathering  round  them,  and  the  streets 
were  dark  and  lonely  ;  still  she  followed  her  guide,  hoping 
every  turning  would  be  the  last ;  but  finding  no  prospect  of  a 
termination,  she  began  to  regret  having  set  out,  and  to  consider 
what  she  should  do.  It  did  not  seem  possible  there  could  lie 
any  design  in  the  matter,  and  though  his  silence  puzzled  her, 
the  sorrow-stricken  countenance  could  be  no  counterfeit,  nor  his 
agitated  manner  a  disguise  ;  and  yet  if  there  were  no  mystery, 
or  secret  planning  in  the  affair,  why  should  he  positively  affirm 
that  none  of  her  household  might  accompany  her  ?  Surely  she 
had  been  rash  in  proceeding  thus  far  through  a  part  of  the  city 
with  which  she  was  wholly  unacquainted,  for  some  unknown 
end.  They  had  now  reached  a  bustling  neighborhood,  where  a 
crowded  populace  of  the  poor  and  wretched  of  a  large  city, 
thronged  the  thoroughfares.  As  Anna  looked  upon  the  coun- 
tenances, some  wore  the  impress  of  sickness  and  poverty,  while 
others  evinced  a  callous  nature,  bearing  the  stamp  of  debauchery 
and  crime.  Their  way  was  much  impeded  by  the  crowd,  and 
at  last  she  missed  her  companion.  She  turned  to  retrace  her 
steps  when  a  firm  hand  was  placed  upon  her  arm,  and  on  look- 
ing round  she  beheld  her  guide  again  beside  her.  He  led  her 
after  him,  and  she  had  no  power  to  resist.  At  last  as  her  ex- 
citement increased,  she  stood  still,  and  refusing  to  prdceed  fur- 
ther, cried,  "  Let  me  go,  indeed  I  can  follow  you  no  longer  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  let  you  go  till  I  have  done  with  you,  then 
I  will  see  you  home  ;  you  could  not  go  alone  through  the  dark 
streets  at  this  late  hour  ;  yet,  if  you  leave  me  now  you  shall  go 
unprotected  —  think  how  far  I  have  come  for  you."  As  he  gazed 
earnestly  upon  her,  she  saw  the  tears  were  still  rolling  in  rapid 
succession   down   the  furrowed  cheeks.     "  Young   lady,"   con- 


204  a  spinster's  story. 

tinned  the  venerable  man,  '  if  you  do  not  follow  me  you  may 
regret  it  to  the  day  of  your  death.  Come,  it  is  the  last  request 
two  fellow  creature  will  ever  ask  of  you  or  of  anyone.  Again 
I  assure  you,  there  is  nothing  to  apprehend,  mine  is  the  abode 
of  poverty,  bul  th  sre  is  als  >  — ■"  hi-;  voice  faltered,  and  amid 
ill  •  din  of  th    3treet,  his  words  were  lost. 

Still  undecided,  Anna  again  followed  him  while  he  retained  a 
firm  hoi  I  of  her  irm,  and  Led  her  after  him.  Turning  into  a 
narrow  street,  he  entered  a  dark  passage,»and  after  groping  their 
way  to  the  end,  he  led  her  up  a  flight  of  steep  steps  into  a 
house  where  a  lamp,  suspended  from  the  coiling,  threw  a  dim 
light  over  the  passage.  Closing  the  door,  and  placing  himself 
against  it,  the  stranger  grasped  the  shoulders  of  the  trembling 
girl,  and  whispered  in  an  excited  manner,  "  Promise  me  upon 
your  life,  that  you  will  never  divulge  to  any  living  being,  what 
you  will  witness  within  these  walls.  Promise  solemnly,  or  you 
shall  never  leave  this  roof." 

Anna  promised. 

"  And  you  must  also  be  willing  to  comply  with  any  request 
that  may  he  made ;  no  money  will  he  demanded  of  you,  gold 
would  be  nothing  to  us  now.     Will  you  grant  what  I  ask  ?  " 

"I  will." 

"  Then  follow  me,  and  no  harm  shall  happen  to  you."  He 
led  the  way  up  several  dark  flights  of  stairs,  Anna  groping  her 
way  after  him,  and  at  last  coming  to  a  stand,  lighted  a  match 
and  unfastening  a  padlock,  threw  open  a  door.  It  disclosed  a 
small,  irregularly  built  apartment,  the  atmosphere  of  which  was 
close  and  fetid.  On  a  table  in  the  centre  burned  a  taper  that 
cast  its  faint  glimmerings  over  the  chamber.  Upon  a  bed  un- 
der a  window,  a  human  form  appeared,  concealed  beneath  the 
coverlid  ;  then  a  chair,  a  few  trunks,  and  the  dying  embers 
upon  the  hearth,  were  about  all  the  room  contained.  Having 
secured  the  door,  her  guide  approached  the  bed,  and  throwing 
aside  the  coverlid,  said, 

"  Claudius,  my  son,  Miss  Wentworth  is  here  —  while  you  are 
able,  lose  no  time." 

A  young  man,  emaciated  almost  to  a  skeleton,  arose  upon  his 
elbows,  and  looked  with  a  bewildered  air  round  the  room.  The 
black  hair  fell  in  heavy  clusters  over  the  pale  face,  which  was 
exceedingly  intelligent,  as  the  full,  dark  eyes  shone  brightly, 
while  they  looked  up  as  though  in  search  of  something.  Tak- 
ing the  hand  of  Anna,  the  old  man  led  her  to  the  side  of  the 
bed,  and  placing  for  her  the  only  chair  the  room  afforded,  fell 
upon  his  knees  and  buried  his  face  in  the  coverlid. 

"  Miss  Wentworth,"  began  the  invalid,  "  you  behold  before 


a  spinster's  story.  265 

you  a  dying  man,  and  one  who  could  not  leave  this  world  with 
out  seeing  you,  to  impart  a  painful  truth."  Here  his  eyes 
shone  with  a  brighter  lustre,  and  a  hectic  flush  overspread  the 
palid  countenance.  *'  You  may  have  heard  of  Claudius  Hunt.  I 
was  employed  in  the  same  firm  as  your  brother  Alfred,  and  T 
cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  loved  that  youth  —  but  I  must  be 
brief.  You  know  the  pretty  Kate,  she  has  spoken  to  you  of 
our  intimacy  —  she  appeared  contented  with  all  I  could  offer, 
but  had  no  sooner  consented  to  the  union,  than  she  began  to  be 
dissatisfied,  and  was  constantly  urging  me  for  more;  while 
goaded  almost  to  frenzy  by  her  solicitations  for  higher  prospects, 
the  billiard  table  arrested  my  notice  —  its  fascinations  soon 
robbed  me  of  all  upright  and  honest  principles.  '  I  had  lost  much 
and  gained  nothing  —  I  sought  to  replenish,  determining  that 
when  once  out  of  debt  and  difficulty,  I  would  never  enter  upon 
such  a  course  again.  I  obtained  the  key  of  the  safe  of  our 
firm.  I  know  not  what  I  took  —  I  did  not  at  the  time,  but  I  in- 
tended, when  my  means  should  allow,  to  replace  it,  every  pen- 
ny. I  might  have  left  the  key  in  the  lock,  but  in  my  madness 
I  ran  about  the  office  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  it.  All  but 
me  had  left  for  luncheon,  yet  several  coats  were  hanging  near 
me.  I  deposited  the  key  in  the  pocket  of  one,  and  fled  to  re- 
lieve myself  of  the  money  ;  and  oh,  my  wretchedness,  when  the 
morning  disclosed  that  it  was  upon  Alfred  I  had  inflicted  the 
wound.  I  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  gone  forward  and 
acknowledged  the  truth,  as  I  saw  the  innocent  youth  suspected 
and  condemned  ;  but  for  this  I  had  no  courage,  I  only  looked 
upon  the  scene,  to  know  it  was  Alfred,  and  that  I  was  wretched. 
And  when  I  heard  he  was  in  prison  I  learned  he  was  an  orphan 
with  a  sister,  an  only  friend  ;  oh,  I  could  not  describe  what  I 
felt  for  you  !  But  my  poor  aged  father  has  acknowledged  the 
whole  for  me,  and  Alfred  will  be  released  to  you;  and  I  have 
but  two  wishes  before  I  die  —  that  something  might  be  done 
for  my  father's  providence, —  for  he  has  reduced  himself  to  pen- 
ury to  assist  his  unworthy  son  —  and  Alfred's  forgivness." 

"No,  my  son,"  murmured  the  old  man,  "I  have  not  ac- 
knowledged your  sin  to  the  authorities,  I  could  not !  I  would  I 
could  die  with  you,  oh  my  poor  boy  !  " 

"  Oh,  have  you  not  told  then  ?  Go  immediately  — " 
"  No  matter,"  replied  Anna  as  her  tears  fell  fast,  "  Alfred  is 
happy  —  think  only  of  yourself,  young  man.  Our  Alfred  no 
longer  partakes  of  the  troubles  of  this  life,  he  is  at  rest  in  the 
mansions  of  the  redeemed,  and  while  time  is  left  to  you,  pre- 
pare to  meet  him." 
12 


266  a  spinster's  story. 

"  Oli,  but  T  v.  -  — ami  he  is  dead  '  "     He 

sunk  back,  upon  bis  pillow,  and  tbe  sorrowing  old  man  batbed 
tbe  temples  with  a  tenderness  that  toucbed  Anna  to  tbe  heart, 
fur  his  deep  emotion  told  too  plainly  how  s^itc  was  his  afflic 
tion  ;  while  as  be  benl  over  his  son  lie  often  whispered  "  Clau- 
dius, speak  to  me  ! 

Tbe  young  man  rallied  again,  and  fixed  his  eyes  intently  up- 
on \nr,a.  Kneeling  down  that  he  might  hear  her  words,  she 
promised  to  manifest  her  forgiveness  by  attending  to  the  main- 
tenance of  his  aged  father,  and  inquired  whether  he  desired  to 
si  I- a  clergyman  ;  to  which  he  replied,  that  be  had  wished  first  to 
be  reconciled  to  Alfred,  then  to  send  for  the  minister  he  had 
known  from  bis  boyhood.  "  And  if  I  live  until  to-morrow," 
ail  led  he,  "  Alfred's  innocence  and  my  guilt  shall  be  made 
known,  for  then  1  shall  see  one  of  my  employers.  But  I  am 
not  guilty  now  !  No,  I  am  forgiven  —  God  is  merciful  —  I  no 
•longer  fear  death  !  " 

There  was  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  tall,  stout  gen- 
tleman in  black  entered. 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  are  come  !  "  cried  Claudius,  as  be  caught  the 
hand  of  the  stranger,  "  I  did  not  expect  you  until  to-morrow." 

As  well  as  his  feeble  strength  would  allow,  he  made  a  full 
confession  of  the  embezzlement,  and  pointing  to  Anna,  told  who 
she  was,  why  she  wore  that  garb  of  mourning,  and  that  he  was 
the  assassin  of  the  innocent  Alfred.  The  gentleman  who  had 
known  him  from  childhood  was  much  moved  by  the  recital,  and 
bade  him  seek  the  pardon  of  a  higher  power  than  his,  which  he 
readily  offered  ;  and  promising  to  call  the  nest  day,  taking  the 
hand  of  Anna  he  left  the  room. 

His  carriage  was  waiting  in  the  street,  and  as  he  accompanied 
Anna  home,  the  scene  they  had  left,  and  the  beloved  Alfred, 
were  subjects  of  interesting  converse  to  both. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"Who  thinks  that  fortune  cannot  change  her  mind, 

Prepares  a  dreadful  jest  I'm-  all  mankind. 

And  who  stands  safest  '.'  till  in.'  is  it  he 

That  Bpreads  ami  swells  in  pufFd  prosperity?" 
"  Men  an'  tin-  sport  of  circumstances,  when 

The  circumstances  seem  the  sport  of  men." 

In    her  room  and    alone,  stood   Lydia  ;   beside    her  were   the 
well    packed   trunk   and    valise,  ready    fur    her  departure,  for 


a  spinster's  story.  267 

as  the  Count  had  said,  they  had  lost  their  claim  to  the  property 
through  the  death  of  Charles,  and  although  they  had  rente. 1  the 
house  and  employed  every  means  of  gaining  a  livelihood  togeth- 
er, it  was  found  necessary  that  the  widow  and  Carlotta  should 
again  part  with  the  affectionate  Lydia,  who  had  accepted  an  en- 
gagement as  governess  in  a  family  a  few  miles  distant. 

The  loss  of  Charles  was  a  sorrow  most  keenly  felt,  and  severe 
and  heavy  was  the  blow  that  had  fallen  upon  that  little  circle. 
As  Lydia  grieved  over  his  memory  she  thought  too  of  the  strange, 
abstracted  manner  which  Clarence  had  manifested  of  late,  and 
lastly  of  his  going  away  without  saying  so  much  as  good-by, 
and  today,  as  she  was  about  to  leave  her  room,  to  enter  again 
upon  the  world  without,  the  mirror  reflected  the  sorrowful  face 
and  tearful  eyes,  and  at  the  sight  of  them  she  sat  down  and 
bursting  into  tears  exclaimed  — 

"  And  they  are  an  index  of  my  heart.  Oh,  Clarence  !  Clar- 
ence !  Could  it  be  that  you  cared  for  me  only  for  worldly  gain  ? 
And  yet  it  is  true,  for  when  all  hope  of  that  was  gone,  you 
even  shunned  me ;  and  Lydia  too  would  be  indifferent  if  she 
could.  But  no  !  while  life  lasts,  she  will  remain  unchanged, 
and  wherever  you  may  wander,  the  heart  of  Lydia  will  go  with 
you,  and  her  prayers  to  heaven  for  you  will  continue  earnest  as 
ever  !  Oh,  none  can  fill  the  vacancy  you  have  left  !  Oh,  Clar- 
ence, come  back  to  me  !  "  There  came  a  knock  at  the  door, 
and  as  she  looked  up,  Estelle  stood  before  her.  They  had  often 
met  of  late,  but  Lydia  never  inquired  after  Clarence,  and  Es- 
telle had  too  much  feeling  to  introduce  the  subject,  so  that  his 
name  was  never  mentioned.  Drawing  her  to  a  seat,  and  encir- 
cling her  arms  about  Lydia,  she  began, — 

"  Why  Lyddie,  love,  you  must  be  trying  to  imagine  you're 
the  most  wretched  being  in  the  world.  Now  let  me  tell  you  a 
story.     Not  very  long  ago,  a  friend  of  ours  named  Selina  was 

engaged  to  Oscar,  the  son  of  the   Baron   de .     Selina  was 

in itliing  but  an  ordinary  girl,  (although  he  did  not  seem  to 
think  so,)  but  to  picture  Oscar,  you  must  imagine  a  noble,  gen- 
erous, nature,  a  perfect  type  of  true  greatness.  Well,  it  was 
the  bridal  morning,  and  the  happy  Selina  alighted  at  the  door 
of  the  little  cathedral,  and  entered  the  porch  where  she  met 
Oscar ;  he  looked  pale  and  agitated,  and  said  in  a  trembling 
voice,  '  Selina,  I  must  speak  with  you.'  The  church  was 
crowded,  and  with  difficulty  they  passed  to  the  side  of  the  ves- 
tibule where  it  was  more  secluded.  '  Selina,'  said  he  with  much 
emotion,  '  I  love  you  too  well  to  deceive  you —  I  have  a  wife 
already  !  '     She   looked   at  him   in  wild   despair  for  a  moment, 


268  a  spinster's  story. 

then  turned  suddenly  to  leave  him.  lie  conjured  her  to  hear 
him,  and  be  would  explain  ;  Inn  she  scarcely  Beard  his  words, 
and  passing  quickly  up  the  aisle,  to  the  astonishment  of  her 
friends,  Baid  to  the  clergyman  who  was  waiting  at  the  altar, 
1  There  will  be  no  wedding  to-day,  sir  ; '  then  rushing  from  the 
edifice,  followed  by  her  bewildered  friends,  cried  '  Take  me  home 
ere  1  die.' 

was  ill,  bul  recovered  to  Team  something  in  the  history 
of  Oscar,  which  she  did  not  know  before. 

••  Two  years  previous,  while  visiting  in  Wirtemberg,  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  young  lady  who,  it  is  said,  can.  when  she 
desires,  render  herself'  exceedingly  fascinating.  Now  Oscar's 
p  ir  i  -  w  sre  solicitous  for  the  happiness  of  their  son,  and  were 
willing  to  receive  into  their  midst  the  portionless  girl ;  but 
many  knew  she  was  nor  virtuous,  an  1  that  her  character  was  by 
do  means  without  much  blemish ;  accordingly,  Oscar's  friends 
bade  him  beware,  an  I  well  investigate  the  matter.  The  lady 
heard  of  this,  and  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief,  threw  herself  upon 
her  knees  before  him,  and  with  many  tears  pleaded  innocent  to 
the  charge,  and  reproached  him  for  his  suspicion.  The  tender 
sympathy  of  Oscar  was  touched,  and  incapable  of  thinking  ill 
of  her,  he  raised  her  from  the  floor,  and  willing  away  the  tears, 
declared  he  believed  her  faultless,  and  that  no  third  person 
should  ever  interpose.  Soon  after,  they  were  married.  The  wed- 
ding took  place  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  as  they  had 
many  miles  to  travel  before  night-fall.  They  had  not  gone  far, 
when  she  inquired  minutely  into  his  personal  affairs,  and  upon 
bearing  his  exact  income,  appeared  greatly  astonished,  and  de- 
clared she  had  been  grossly  deceived.  She  became  much  excit- 
ed, and  greatly  enraged.  He  badedier  calm  herself,  but  she  de- 
fied him  to  control  her,  and  upon  reaching  the  first  station,  was 
exceedingly  insolent,  and  started  to  return  home.  Oscar  fol- 
lowed. On  reaching  her  friends,  she  declared,  as  she  threw  her- 
self into  a  fit  of  weeping,  that  Oscar's  behavior  had  been  intol- 
erable, and  that  she  was  determined  to  have  no  more  to  do  with 
him.  Oscar  saw  no  more  of  her  during  the  month  he  remained 
in  Wirtemberg,  still  thinking  she  would  relent  and  desire  to 
return  to  him.  But  to  his  astonishment  he  received  a  note 
from  her,  stating  that  they  were  now  finally  separated.  He 
applied  for  a  divorce,  but  she  was  no  where  to  be  found,  and 
consequently  he  must  live  a  single  life  ;  this  he  was  content  to 
do,  until  he  loved  Selina,  when  he  yielded  himself  a  prey  to 
despondency.  His  anxious  friends  in  reasoning  with  him  de- 
clared that  in  the  sight  of  luuven  he  was  free,  and  at  liberty  to 


a  spinster's  story.  269 

marry  Selina,  and  advised  him  never  to  mention  his  former 
connection  ;  this  he  resolved  to  do,  b'ul  when  it  cam  i  to  the 
last,  his  devotion  to  the  young  girl,  forbade  bjs  keeping  it  a  se- 
cret. While  Selina  was  ill,  as  she  refused  to  see  him,  he  be- 
lieved  she  had  heard  and  credited  the  false  story  of  the  incon- 
stant Fritzine,  and  seeking  a  means  of  dissipating  his  melan- 
choly; he  accompanied  his  family  on  a  tour.  His  father  has 
died,  and  now  Oscar  is  a  baron,  and  the  unhappy  Selina  has 
been  told  that  he  has  found,  in  France,  a  talented  young  actress, 
who  is  noted  for  her  virtues  and  striking  beauty,  to  supply  her 
place." 

Estelle's  tears  flowed  fast  as  she  concluded,  and  with  a  faint 
smile  she  added,  "  Selina  is  part  of  my  name  ;  now  Lydia  knows 
why  Estelle  must  sometimes  be  miserable." 

"Lottie,"  said  the' widow  as  she  stood  looking  out  from  a 
window,  "  go  and  tell  Lydia  Mr.  Everett  will  soon  be  here  for 
her,  I  see  his  chaise  coming  up  the  street." 

She  had  scarcely  finished  speaking,  when  the  tall,  straight 
figure  had  alighted  and  stood  in  the  hall. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Villiers,  I  was  sorry  to  hear  you  were  about  to 
part  with  Lydia  again,  but  we  must  trust  these  trials  are  for 
our  good." 

Wherever  the  young  clergyman  had  been  travelling,  cer- 
tainly it  must  have  afforded  him  no  great  pleasure,  and  no  pos- 
sible benefit,  for  the  face  which  had  grown  much  thinner,  was 
exceedingly  pale,  and  the  expression  unusually  sad.  He  sat 
down,  and  with  a  sigh  continued,  "  It  must  be  a  great  source 
of  anxiety  to  have  a  daughter  so  young  and  with  Lydia's  attrac- 
tions, too,  thrown  upon  the  world,  with  but  little  idea  of  the 
evil  that  is  in  it." 

"Yes;  tome  Lydia  is  attractive,  ^ut  mothers  are  not  the 
most  impartial  judges,  you  know  ;  I  can't  tell  how  she  impress- 
es others." 

"  But  I  can,"  and  the  face  was  suddenly  brightened  by  a 
smile,  "  Lydia  possesses  great  power  of  fascination,  and  perhaps 
is  of  too  unsuspicious  and  confiding  a  nature  to  use  much  pene- 
tration in  selecting  her  friends.  Yes,  Lydia  is  truly  captivating, 
and  when  you  once  acquaint  yourself  with  the  goodness  and 
purity  of  the  soul  within,  you  must  be  callous  indeed  if  not 
drawn  towards  her." 

Mr.  Everett  had  never  said  so  much  before,  and  the  widow 
was  astonished.  Had  he  cared  for  Lydia  and  refrained  from 
acknowledging  it  because  of   Charles '!     Strange   man!     And 


liTO  A    SPINSTERS    STOBT. 

Lydia  was  now  portionless  and  unprotected  ;  but  then  Lydia 
had  declared  she  never  could  love  Mr.  Everett,  bo  what  was  the 
mother's  hope  '.'     She  must  he  patient,  and  wait  for  time  to  do 

its  work. 

Estelle  and  Lydia  now  entered.  "Mr.  Everett,"  said  the  lat- 
ter, cheerfully,  as  she  hastened  to  take  the  extended  hand,  "I 
wish  you  would  forgel  to  be  punctual  when  you  are  ahout  to 
drag  me  away  on  such  occasions.'' 

■•  But  you  will  trust  me  to  bo  as  punctual  in  bringing  you 
back  when  the  happy  time  arrives." 

But  little  more  was  said,  for  that  word  which  says  so  much 
of  parting  and  meeting  again  must  be  spoken.  "  Farewell  "  and 
'•  adieu  "  will  answer  for  the  coquette  and  the  novel,  but  where  is 
the  word   that   speaks  so   much   to  the  heart  as   the-  old  "  good- 

During  the  drive,  Lydia  endeavored  to  be  cheerful  and  con- 
versant, but  it  was  evident  her  companion  was  sad,  and  it  was 
useless  to  endeavor  to  draw  him  out  of  himself.  They  arrived 
at  their  destination,  and  when  Lydia  took  the  proffered  hand, 
the  icy  touch  startled  her.  She  was  about  to  make  a  remark  — 
be  was  gone. 

She  was  shown  into  a  spacious  and  elegant  mansion,  where, 
although  the  parents  appeared  cold  and  austere,  the  engaging 
manners  of  the  children  as  they  led  her  away  to  her  room, 
seemed  to  throw  a  degree  of  home-feeling  over  her  reception. 
Her  pupils  were  three  dear  little  girls,  to  whom  she  soon  be- 
came much  attached,  and  as  she  avoided  all  opportunities  of 
brooding  in  solitude,  she  seldom  failed  in  her  attempts  to  ap- 
pear cheerful  and  happy  ;  ever  ready  to  render  a  service  to  any, 
the  young  governess  soon  became  a  favorite  in  the  family. 

'•  Miss*  Villiers,"  said  one  of  the  children  one  morning  as 
they  met  in  the  breakfast?  room,  we  want  you  to  accompany  us 
to  a  matinee  at  twelve  o'clock  ;  ma  is'  not  going,  but  we  may 
have  the  carriage  and  go  with  you, —  that  is;  if  you  are  willing, 
and  you  wont  refuse,  will  you?  " 

Though  little  inclined  for  the  opera,  the  appointed  hour 
found  Lydia  in  readiness,  and  while  her  thoughts  were  constant- 
ly turned  to  the  battle  field,  tending  the  wounded  and  dying, 
she  took  her  seat  in  the  carriage,  and  endeavored  to  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  the  occasion.  They  had  several  miles  to  go,  but 
they  drove  rapidly,  and  when  they  reached  the  house,  the  in- 
ner doors  were  not  open,  while  the  throng  that  pressed  the  en- 
trance gave  indication  of  a  crowded  house.  They  alighted,  and 
took   their   place  among  the  rest.     Near  them  stood  two  ladies 


a  spinster's  stoet.  271 

who  appeared  not  only  to  know  the  whole  pedigree  of  all  who 
drove  up  to  the  door,  but  also  seemed  to  deem  this  opportunity 
of  informing  their  friends  of  the  same  ;  they  conversed  fluently 
in  Frenoh,  and  in  a  sufficiently  loud  tone  of  voice  for  all  near 
them  to  hear. 

"There's  the  carriage  of  Count  Castello,"  said  one,  "but 
see,  Estelle  is  in  deep  mourning, —  who  is  it  for?" 

"  Whv.  didn't  you  bear  poor  Clarence  was  mortally  wound- 
ed 'I  I'm  sorry  for  Estelle  ;  they  say  they  were  very  much  at- 
tached ;  L  suppose  some  one  has  dragged  her  here  for  a  change. 
1  must  inquire  who  those  persons  are,  with  her." 

"  But  do  look  !  "  said  the  other,  "  Why,  I  do  declare  there's 
that  American  minister,  I  never  should  have  thought  he  attend- 
ed the  opera." 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  indeed  Mr.  Everett." 

Lydia  looked  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  found  the  speak- 
er was  right ;  but  she  scarcely  gave  him  a  second  thought,  and 
again  she  gazed  upon  the  figure  of  Estelle,  who  had  not  yet 
alighted. 

"  Do  tell  me,"  continued  one  of  the  ladies,  "  what  was  it  you 
said  you  heard  about  that  clergyman  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  is  the  one  who  has  followed  that  Villiers  girl  from 
America.  They  say  she  doesn't  care  for  him,  but  she  was  the 
fiancee  of  that  young  Castello,  and  now  he  has  gone  I  suppose 
the  minister  thinks  there  is  chance  to  hope,  as  she's  only  a  poor 
governess  ;  probably  he  heard  she  was  coming,  and  took  this 
opportunity  of  seeing  her.  I  wish  some  one  could  show  her  to 
me,  I've  never  seen  this  Miss  Villiers." 

Estelle,  who  had  caught  sight  of  Lydia,  now  alighted,  and 
came  towards  her ;  she  had  accompanied  an  invalid  relation  to 
the  springs  in  Germany,  and  Lydia  had  not  heard  from  her  dur- 
ing several  weeks.  And  now  they  had  no  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing to  each  other,  for  the  ladies  before  mentioned  demanded 
the  undivided  attention  of  Estelle,  and  to  the  relief  of  Lydia 
they  had  sufficient  consideration  not  to  speak  of  Clarence.  One 
of  these  now  moved  away  in  quest  of  Mr.  Everett,  and  Estelle 
whispered  to  Lydia,  "This  celebrated  singer  we're  to  hear  is 
the  beauty  Oscar  admires  so  much,  she  has  just  come  from 
France,  E  believe, —  I  should  like  to  know  whether  he  is  here  or 
not." 

One  of  the  ladies  now  came  up  with  Mr.  Everett.  His  eye 
instantly  fell  upon  Lydia,  and  he  said,  eagerly, — 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me  here,  Miss  Lydia,  but  the  ex- 
quisite voice  of  this  young  artiste  is  the  excuse  I  must  plead." 


-~'l  a  spinster's  story. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  rejoined  one  of  the  ladies,  "  the  Baroness  de 
Korsa  is  sufficient  reason  for  the  very  elect  to  leave  their  pen- 
ance,  and  hasten  to  hear  her." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  was  her  name,"  said  Mr.  Everett,  with 

some  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  I  know  she  is  always  called  Mile.  Sauvostre,"  observed 
the  lady,  "  because  there  was  some  difficulty  about  the  divorce 
between  the  baron  and  his  first  wife,  and  at  present,  I  believe, 
this  one  cannot  be  acknowledged  ;  I've  heard  she  is  very  much 
attached  to  him,  and  when  she  is  not  appearing  in  public,  leads 
a  very  secluded  life." 

Estelle  caught  the  arm  of  Lydia,  and  turned  away. 

The  doors  were  opened,  and  amid  the  eagerness  for  seats,  and 
Lydia's  anxiety  to  keep  her  young  charge  with  her,  the  friends 
were  separated. 

Lydia  had  not  been  able  to  ascertain  whether  the  young  ar- 
tiste on  the  present  occasion  was  the  Mile.  Sauvestre  who,  it 
had  been  reported,  left  for  London  some  time  previous  ;  but  she 
felt  confident  it  was  the  same,  when  informed  that  the  argument 
of  the  opera  was  originated  by  the  young  actress  herself,  and 
that  the  music  was  a  selection  she  had  made  from  all  the  favor- 
ite operas.  Lydia  took  up  the  book  to  read  the  plot,  but  her 
attention  was  too  much  divided  to  fix  it  anywhere  ;  she  longed 
to  tell  Estelle  how  good  and  noble  was  the  character  of  Beatrice, 
how  pure  and  unsophisticated  was  the  soul  that  lived  beneath 
that  dazzling  exterior,  how  ardent  was  her  love,  and  sincere  her 
gratitude  toward  any  who  offered  confidence  and  kindness  ;  and 
with  what  earnestness  could  she  have  assured  Hstelle,  that  were 
there  one  beside  herself  worthy  of  Oscar,  it  would  be  Beatrice. 
And  then  Beatrice  had  suffered  much,  for  the  severest  of  all 
afflictions  had  laid  its  hand  upon  her  ;  and  who  could  tell  what 
bad  been  the  cause  of  the  misfortune  V 

Lydia  was  glancing  over  the  argument  when  one  part,  which 
was  in  unison  with  her  train  of  thought,  because  it  was  melan- 
choly, attracted  her  attention.  It  was  where  the  faithful  wife 
was  accused  of  infidelity ;  and  to  test  her  love,  her  consort  with 
much  connivance,  feigned  illness  and  death.  He  then  is  assured 
by  her  grief  that  her  love  is  sincere,  but  must  carry  out  the 
plot,  and  the  funeral  takes  place,  when  amidst  the  agony  and 
tears  of  the  fond  wife,  the  empty  coffin  is  lowered  into  the  grave. 
At  one  scene  it  is  night,  and  attired  in  the  habiliments  of  the 
widow,  the  sorrowing  wife  pursues  her  lonely  way  to  the  tomb, 
where,  while  she  is  with  many  tears  strewing  flowers  over  the 
grave,  her  husband  approaches,  and  seeking  forgiveness,  bears 
the  happy  wife  from  the  gloomy  scene. 


a  spinster's  story.  273 

The  curtain  rose,  and  there  stood  "Beatrice  ;  here  she  was  in 
the  costume  of  a  peasant  girl,  for  which  part  she  was  well 
adapted,  and  she  performed  it.  admirably.  She  was  less  thin 
than  before,  and  appeared  to  have  gained  much  in  health,  as  the 
cheeks  were  round  and  rosy  ;  and  as  the  color  often  faded  for  a 
moment,  it  was  evident  no  cosmetics  had  been  employed  to  en- 
hance her  beauty.  Her  voice  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  higher 
degree  of  perfection,  the  compass  and  power  being  more  rare 
than  ever  before. 

Scene  after  scene,  and  at  last  that  of  the  cemetery.  Slowly 
she  approached,  and  lifting  her  veil  stood  to  sing  a  requiem  for 
the  departed.  So  still  was  that  crowded  house,  that  it  seemed 
the  sigh  she  heaved  might  be  heard  at  any  part  of  it.  Then 
came  in  low.  but  full,  rich  tones,  the  mournful  strain  ;  the  eyes 
were  raised,  the  natural  tears  flowed  fast,  the  voice  grew  louder, 
then  the  spirit  of  the  song  died  away,  and  as  her  eyes  dropped, 
they  fell  upon  some  object  among  the  audience  before  her  ;  im- 
mediately the  voice  ceased,  as  she  gazed  intently  upon  it ;  then 
she  appeared  to  recover  herself,  and  attempted  to  proceed,  but 
soon  the  voice  ceased  again,  and  with  outstretched  arms  as  if 
toward  the  object  upon  which  her  eyes  were  riveted,  the  lovely 
Beatrice  uttered  a  shriek  that  pierced  the  house,  and  fell  to  the 
floor. 

"  I  must  go  to  her  !  "  cried  Lydia,  as  she  clung  closely  to 
her  charge. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Villiers,  don't  leave  us,"  entreated  the  children  ; 
"  you  are  so  fond  of  helping  those  in  distress,  but  you  forget 
how  forlorn  we  should  be  left  here  in  this  crowd.  Let  us  go 
home  now,  as  the  opera  will  not  be  finished.  I  can  see  papa 
standing  on  a  seat,  looking  for  us.     Do  come  !  " 

In  a  state  of  half  consciousness,  Lydia  suffered  herself  to  be 
carried  on  with  the  crowd,  she  saw  no  more  of  Estello,  and  soon 
she  was  seated  in  the  carriage,  driving  far  away  from  —  Beatrice. 

On  reaching  home  Lydia  found  the  following  letter  from 
Carlotta. 

.,  "  Dear  sister,  mine  :  —  Something  rather  romantic  has 
happened,  and  although  you  will  laugh  at  my  lengthy  epistle, 
I  mean  to  give  you  the  tale  in  full.     Here  it  is. 

"  I  was  singing  one  evening  to  amuse  Mr.  Everett,  when  there 

came  a  ring  at  the  bell,  and  a  dark,  odddooking  little  man  in  a 

black   cloak  that  would  have  fitted  an  individual  twice  his  size, 

entered   and   asked    to   see    '  the    ladies.'     "What  Mr,  Everett 

12* 


•J  i  I  A    SPINSTEB'b    8TOBT. 

might  have  thought  his  words  insinuated,  T  can't  tell,  but  T 
kaow  be  very  soon  disappeared. 

"  •  i  munI  evening,  ma'am  —  good  evening,  Miss,'  Baid  the  little 
gentleman  with  a  profound  bow  at  the  parlor  door,  'a  cold  eve- 
ning—  a  very  oold  evening  —  exceedingly  cold.'  He  was  si- 
lent a  few  moments,  while  he  glanced  with  bis  sharp,  little  eyes 
from  one  to  the  other,  his  lips  quivering  as  though  anxious  to 
proceed.  Then  in  rapid  succession  came  the  words.  '  you  have 
seen  me  before,  madam — yes,  Miss — I'm  positive  —  you've 
seen  nie  before.' 

<  "  Very  likely,  sir,  but  we  do  not  remember.' 
"'No,  no  —  of  course  not  —  oh  well  —  that's  of  no  impor- 
tance, none  at  all — oh  no.  Well,  ladies  ,  I've  a  little  mat- 
ter to  state  —  I  will  begin  at  once  —  but  of  course  you  wish 
to  know  who  I  am.  Now  it's  of  no  use  for  me  to  tell  you  my 
name,  you  would  only  forget  it  —  for  I'm  sorry  to  say  it's 
very  long  and  very  harsh  to  the  ear.  How  my  forefathers  came 
by  it,  is  more  than  I  know  —  was  more  than  they  knew 
themselves  most  likely  —  however,  that  is  nothing  to  our 
present  purpose — nothing  at  all.  Well,  raa'aml  am  a 
lawyer  —  audi  have  a  son  —  yes,  miss  —  it's  true,  glancing 
at  me,  'bachelor  as  I  look — -[  have  a  wife,  yes  —  exactly;  I 
think  lawyers  are  in  general  supposed  to  be  bachelors — how- 
ever, it's  true  I  have -a  son  as  I  said  before — and  that  is 
more  to  our  present  purpose,  yes  —  exactly.  Well,  some  little 
business  has  occurred,  which  I  wished  to  communicate  to  you  at 
the  shortest  notice  —  yes  ma'am,  exactly — -  the  very  shortest, 
or  1  shouldn't   have   driven  at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an  hour 

—  on  had  roads  —  at  the  risk  of  having  the  very  vitals  jolted 
out  of  me.  'However,  I've  received  no  injury  —  that  is,  no  se- 
rious injury  —  no:  and  if  I  had.  it  would  not  have  concerned 
you  in  the  least  —  of  course  not!  I  don't  expeet  anything  of 
the  kind,  oh  no  ;  yon  only  wish  to  know  what  brought  me  here 

—  all  very  natural,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  all,  not  in  the  least. 
Oh  no,  but  I  must  proceed,  and  pardon  me  if  I  am  tedious.  I 
know  I  am  rather  precise.  Well,  I  and  my  son  John  were 
spending  to-day  at  La  Belle,  it  was  an  hour  before  luncheon, 
and  my  son  John  who  has  a  remarkable  appetite,  was  lounging 
from  one  room  to  another,  anxiously  waiting  to  hear  the  bell, 
which  1  believe  was  muffled  on  account  of  the  illness  of  the 
mother  of  the  lady  Fritzine  —  and  her  indisposition  is  also  the 
reason  the  wedding  has  been  postponed  —  but  that  is  nothing 
to  us,  though  a  great  deal  to  them,  I've  no  doubt.  Well,  as  I, 
said  before,  my  boy  John  has  an  extraordinary  appetite,  and 


a  spinster's  stoet.  275 

likes  to  lie  amused,  to  pass  away  the  time  ;  so  he  said  to  that 
young  Hermann  (l>rg  liie  gentleman's  pardon  —  but  for  :!  hi., 
name) — "  Let  us  come  inro  this  Library,  there's  nothing  [ 
should  like  better  than  to  ransack  these  old  curiosities."  They 
began  to  pull  over  the  things,  and  in  looking  over  the  pamphlets 
Hermann  exclaimed,  "  Now  I'm  here,  I'll  look  for  that  poem  I 
never  succeeded  in  finding." 

"  '  What  sort  of  a  looking  affair  is  it?  ' 

"  '  One  of  Shakspeare's  in  old  English  —  and  as  you  imagine 
yourself  a  better  scholar  than  your  friend,  I'll  let  you  translate 
it,' 

"  They  both  began  to  look,  and  my  son  John  soon  cried  out, 
'  What  in  the  name  of  wonder  do  you  call  this  ?  ' 

"'  What  is  it?' 

"  '  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  intend  you  shall  tell  me' —  and 
away  ran  my  son  John  and  Hermann  after  him,  but  my  John 
is  very  tall,  not  like  me  —  oli  no,  ma'am  —  he  resembles  his 
mother  —  yes,  very  tall;  well,  before  Herman  reached  him,  he 
found  me,  and  handed  the  paper  to  my  astonished  eyes  —  for 
there  it  was,  plain  as  could  be  —  a  very  codicil  to  the  will  of 
the  late  Sir  Charles  Villiers,  of  La  Belle,  near  Halle.  Now 
ladies,  I  don't  pretend  to  say  what's  in  it,  but  of  course 
whatever  it  is,  is  worth  having,  or  I  shouldn't  have  spent  the 
time  and  attention  over  it  that  I  have  —  but  that  is  nothing  to 
you,  certainly  not  ma'am,  that  is  —  I  mean  my  trouble  —  how- 
ever, there  will  be  a  gathering  at  La  Belle  on  next  Monday, 
so  please  be  there  at  one  o'clock  when  the  codicil  will  be  read. 
Yes,  one  o'clock  —  well  —  I  think  that  is  all  I  have  to  say. 
You  may  feel  confident  all  is  perfectly  safe  in  my  hands  —  and 
with  as  little  expense  to  you  as  possible  — for  although  lawyers 
are  said  to  get  to  heaven  at  a  very  slow  rate  —  there  happen  to 
be  a  few  honest  ones  in  the  world  —  its  quite  true  ma'am,  for 
I'm  one  of  those  myself — but  I  like  to  be  brief  —  you  will  be 
there  with  your  three  children  —  beg  pardon  ma'am,  two  chil- 
dren —  yes,  exactly  ;  well  good-night,  ma'am  —  good  evening 
.Miss."  And  the  little  man  was  soon  in  his  chaise,  driving  at 
the  rate  of  his  twelve  miles  an  hour. 

"  Now  Lyddie  love,  we  shall  expect  you  at  home  to-morrow, 
(Saturday)  Who  knows  what  the  codicil  will  unfold?  Oh, 
Lyddie  !  Lyddie  !  •  And  the  beautiful  La  Belle  may  yet  be 
ours  !  But  while  I  think  of  it,  I  must  state  that  Estelle  has 
returned  from  the  country,  for  the  invalid  aunt  has  died,  leaving 
her  and  Clarence  a  very  good  fortune.  She  says  her  brother's 
wound   is  not   likely  to   prove  fatal,  and   as  soon  as   he  can  he 


1270  A   SPIN-- 1  BB'S    8TOBT. 

moved  he  will  be  brought  home.  But  as  tbe  little  lawyer  said 
after  he  bad  finished  bis  long  preamble,  '  I  like  to  be  brief,'  so 
will  postpone  all  other  news  until  you  meet 

"  Sour  affectionate  Lottie. 

"  Mamma's  best  love  to  her  darling  child." 

It  was  a  cold,  frosty  morning  in  the  middle  of  March,  and 
the  appearance  of  La  Belle  in  its  mantle  of  snow,  was  not  in 
the  least  uninviting,  though,  from  the  little  evergreens  in  the 
grounds,  to  the  turrets  of  the  tower,  all  wore  the  same  white 
crest  that  sparkled  in  its  beauty  as  the  sun-beams  played  upon 
tbe  scene. 

The  clock  in  the  tower  chimed  the  hour  of  one  ;  the  voices 
in  the  drawing-room  told  it  was  well  filled  :  without,  with  his 
hand  upon  the  door,  stood  the  sharp-eyed  little  lawyer,  a  roll  of 
papers  tied  with  pink  tape  was  under  one  arm,  while  the  three- 
cornered  hat  was  under  the  other.  He  opened  the  door  and 
entered,  making  his  way  in  nervous  haste  through  the  profusion 
of  silk  and  satin  that  impeded  his  progress ;  he  took  his  seat, 
and  placed  his  spectacles  on  his  nose  ;  every  voice  ceased,  and 
the  spacious  apartment  was  without  a  sound.  The  little  lawyer 
rose,  and  took  a  survey  of  the  company.  It  was  upon  the  eve 
of  the  wedding,  and  many  friends  of  Fritzine  were  on  a  visit  at 
La  Belle,  and  although  the  fiances  would  gladly  have  dispensed 
with  their  society,  fearing  some  humiliating  disclosures  at  the 
reading  of  the  codicil,  these  could  not  be  sent  away,  and  to  all 
appearance  Fritzine  was  ill  at  ease.  At  last  the  quick  little 
eyes  of  the  lawyer  fell  upon  the  widow  and  her  daughters  ;  his 
lips  moved,  and  had  they  been  near  enough,  no  doubt  they 
would  have  heard  the  words,  "  Yes  —  exactly."  The  reading 
began  — 

"  Whereas  I,  Charles  Frederick  Yilliers  of  La  Belle,  in  the 
Province  of  Halle,  have  made  my  last  will  and  testament  in 
writing,  bearing  date  the  sixteenth  day  of  May,  in  the  year  of 

our  Lord  one   thousand   eight    hundred   and ,  in,  and   by 

which,  I  have  given  and  bequeathed  to  my  grandson  Charles  F. 
Villiers  the  estate  known  and  designated  as  La  Belle.  Now 
therefore,  I  do,  by  this  my  writing,  which  I  hereby  declare  to 
be  a  codicil  to  my  last  will  and  testament,  and  to  be  taken  as  a 
part  thereof,  order  and  declare,  that  my  will  is,  that  I  bequeath 
the  estate  of  La  Belle  to  the  child  of  my  deceased  daughter, 
who  was  Deborah  C.  Villiers,  together  with  eight  hundred  thou- 
sand thalers,  if  it  is  discovered   to   be  a   boy,  if  not,  the  estate 


a  spinster's  story.  277 

and  annuity  will  be  for  a  second  institution  for  infirm  bachelors. 
And  after  the  remainder  of  my  property  has  been  disposed  of 
according  to  the  statements  iii  my  will,  the  residue  of  my  per- 
sonal estate  is  to  be  divided  among  the  children  of  my  depart- 
ed son  Charles  F.  Villiers,  instead  of  passing  to  the  crown,  as 
stated  in  ray  will. 

And  lastly,  it  is  my  desire  that  this  codicil  be  annexed  to. 
and  made  a  part  of  my  last  will  and  testament,  as  aforesaid,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes.  I  die  in  the  Protestant  religion,  with 
the  hope  of  a  glorious  resurrection,     Amen." 

The  little  lawyer  now  approached  Mrs.  Villiers,  and  rubbing 
his  hand  violently  together,  said,  "  Good,  very  good  —  dear 
old  gentleman  — r-  peace  to  his  ashes." 

Here  a  door  opened  and  a  female  figure,  partly  in  her  night- 
clothes,  partly  in  mourning  attire,  stood  before  them. 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  said  the  little  lawyer,  "  what  can  be  the 
matter  ?  " 

"Is  it  over?"  inquired  the  mysterious  creature  in  a  faint, 
tremulous  voice. 

All  looked  at  her  in  mute  astonishment,  and  after  waiting  as 
if  for  an  answer,  she  continued,  "  You  should  have  waited  for 
me,  I  could  soon  have  dressed,  why  didn't  you  send  for  me? 
"Who  has  a  greater  right  to  see  Fritzine  married,  than  her  own 
mother  ?  " 

"  Fritzine,  make  her  go  back  to  her  room,"  said  Hermann 
in  an  angry  tone. 

"  Oh,  mother,  you've  sadly  forgotten  yourself,"  and  Fritz- 
ine with  an  indifferent  air,  arose  and  led  the  singular  old  lady 
from  the  scene. 

Hermann  became  so  infuriate  that  no  one  could  reason  with 
him,  no  room  could  contain  him. 

"  Ladies,"  whispered  the  little  lawyer,  "  I  think  it  will  not 
be  pleasant  for  you  here  —  if  you  return  to  the  city,  I  will  at- 
tend to  everything  for  you, —  yes,  exactly,  ma'am." 

"  Many  thanks  to  you,  sir.  Can  you  tell  us  where  Miss 
Eliza  Villiers  is  now  ?  " 

"  No,  Madam,  I  cannot  —  although  I  know  perfectly  well, 
for  she  told  me  to  keep  it  a  secret,  as  she  perfers  to  live  in  en- 
tire seclusion  —  she  is  afraid,  I  believe,  of  her  friends  and  rel- 
atives troubling  her.  Good  day,  ma'am  —  I  shall  see  you 
again  soon  —  Yes,  exactly." 


CHAPTER  XXVni. 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  years  that  are  gone,  they  roll  before  me  with  all  their 
deeds  I" 

"  Oh  Anna,  whose  likeness  is  that  you  seem  to  treasure  so 
much?" 

"  Why  pa,  that's  the  Lydia  I've  spoken  to  you  about." 

"So  that's  the  young  lady  you  deem  perfection  itself,  is  it?" 

"  Well,  almost;  I  know  I  love  her  too  well  to  be  quite  con- 
tented away  from  her ;  but  dear  pa,  if  you  only  knew  Miss 
Yilliers,  you  would  not  wonder  at  any  one  making  an  idol  of 
her." 

"  Villiers,  is  that  her  name?"  He  took  up  the  likeness 
again,  and  scrutinized  it  closely.     Who  was  her  father  ?  " 

Anna  told  all  she  knew  of  the  family,  he  listened  attentively 
until  she  ceased  speaking,  then  rather  hastily  throwing  it  into 
her  lap,  said,  "  Well,  dear  child,  I'm  sorry  you've  lost  the 
friend  you  think  so  much  of,  it's  not  probable  you  will  ever  see 
her  again ;  but  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  see  some  of  our  prin- 
cipal cities,  it  will  make  a  change  for  you  ;  you  know  you  can 
leave  a  sufficient  sum  with  those  Hunts  to  provide  for  them  un- 
til we  return,  when  I  shall  take  a  house,  and  you  can  busy 
yourself  with  the  arrangements.  After  a  time  you  will  without 
doubt  have  a  circle  of  friends  around  you,  then  my  serious  little 
Anna  will  cease  to  be  such  a  lone  star." 

It  was  not  in  Mr.  Wentworth's  nature  to  manifest  very 
much  affection,  but  he  passed  his  arm  round  the  waist  of  his 
daughter,  and  looking  into  her  eyes,  murmured,  "  My  own 
Cecile's  child  !  "  Then,  as  if  to  avoid  evincing  more  tender 
feeling,  he  kissed  her  cheek  hurriedly,  and  rising  added,  "  Well, 
get  your  things  ready,  and  when  you  like  we  will  set  out ;  oh, 
but  you  may  want  to  make  purchases —  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  pa,  I  have  funds  sufficient  to  last  me  some 
time  to  come." 

"  Gracious,  child  !  few  girls  could  practice  such  economy, 
but  I  shall  not  let  you  have  your  own  way  always,"  added  he 
smiling,  "  There's  a  medium  in  all  things,  and  I  must  say 
wealth  was  given  to  be  enjoyed." 

"  Certainly,  pa,  and  also  to  be  scattered  for  the  relief  of  the 
poor." 


a  spinster's  stoky.  £79 

"  Oh  to  be  sure  ;  and  I  always  give  -when  I  am  asked,  al- 
though I'll  confess  it's  often  to  prevent  being  plagued  the  sec- 
ond time,  and  thai  1  should  never  take  th  i  trouble  of  going  in 
search  of  the  needy  a>  you  do  ;  however,  chacun  son  gotu." 

Al'ler  her  father  had  gene,  Anna  sat  viewing  the  likeness  in 
rather  a  spiritless  mood,  when  the  door  opened  and  Kate  stood 
before  her.  The  face  wore  rather  a  pensive  expression,  and 
without  speak  in    .  she  took  her  seat  beside  Anna. 

"  Why,  Kate,  .  wondered  what  had  become  of  you." 
"  I  suppose  so;  yet  you  must  have  heard  of  my  misfortune, 
and  of  course  I've   not  felt  inclined  for  anything;"  her   eyes 
dropped  and  she  was  again  silent. 

"  You  mean  in  regard  to  Mr.  Hunt,  have  you  seen  poor 
Claudius  lately  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  ;  it's  enough  for  me  to  bear  my  disappointment  af- 
ter getting  everything  ready,  and  when  I  did  not  hear  any- 
thing of  him  for  a  few  days  I  was  almost  frantic,  wondering 
what  had  kept  him  away  ;  then  the  news  came  that  he  was  ill, 
and  to  my  surprise  he  had  left  the  elegant  dwelling  where  he 
had  resided,  and  having  ascertained  where  he  was,  I  hastened 
to  find  him.  But  oh  !  such  a  place  !  how  I  reached  it  I  don't 
know,  yet  it  was  no  dream,  for  there  he  was,  the  Claudius  upon 
whom  t  had  built  my  hopes  of  happiness,  poor  and  wretched." 
"  Did  he  upbraid  you  '!  " 

"  Certainly  not.  Anna,  what  do  you  mean  1  Why,  he  was 
always  very  fond  of  me,  and  so  was  I  of  him  ;  but  when  he  told 
me  the  trouble  he  was  in,  and  I  learned  he  was  in  the  greatest 
of  poverty  and  misery,  of  course  I  gave  him  up  at  once,  and 
thought  no  more  about  him  although  I  did  go  once  to  see 
him,  for  that  father  of  his  came,  and  told  us  his  son  was  con- 
stantly calling  forme.  But  then  you  know!  can't  bear  any- 
thing that  is  gloomy,  and  the  death  like  countenance  haunted 
me  for  days  after"  A  tear  stole  down  the  pretty  face,  and 
Anna,  as  she  beheld  it,  said  sympathizingly,  "  Poor  fellow,  every 
one  seems  sorry  for  him  ;  I'm  very  happy  to  know  he  is  easier 
in  mind  than  he  was.  I  believe  from  what  we  can  judge,  he  is 
prepared  to  die." 

"  Oh,  but  I  was  thinking  of  myself,  I  bad  expected  to  be 
upon  my  bridal  tour  by  this  time.  I  wonder  I've  not  been  in 
my  bed  ever  since.  But  for  pity's  sake  don't  talk  any  more 
about  him.  He's  done  with, —  I  must  try  to  fascinate  now  in 
some  other  direction.  Oh,  Anna,  what  sort  of  a  man  is  your 
father,  good-natured  './  becau  e,  perhaps,  he  would  be  security 
for  us  for  about  two  thousand  dollars, —  that  is  what  i  came  for; 


280  \  spinsteb's  story. 

but  Anna,  you  look  better,  and  you  take  more  pains  ■with  your 
toilet  than  you  used,  although  you  were  generally  very  neat.  I 
Buppose  you  Bee  very  little  of  Barrow  now?" 

••  Well,  I  expect  there's  but  little  to  be  seen  of  him  at  any 
time,  For  there  was  very  little  of  the  poor  old  fellow  before,  what 
must  he  be  now'.'"  Then  their  eyes  met,  and  they  burst  into 
laughter. 

•  Well  Anna,"  continued  Kate  "  I  know  you  had  good  rea- 
son for  wishing  to  get  out  of  this  house,  but  really  I  could 
never  forgive  you  for  submissively  yielding  yourself  a  victim  to 
anything  so  perfectly  forlorn.  Oh,  what  an  escape  for  you  I 
Ju  t  picture  to  yourself  one  half  the  world  laughing  at  you, 
while  the  other  despised  you  for  your  folly.  Oh,  it  seems  to 
me  I'd  rather  suffer  anything,  than  look  upon  him  again  ;  but 
there's  not  much  fear  that  I  ever  shall,  for  I'll  always  take  good 
care  to  keep  out  of  his  way.     But  I  must  go  — " 

"  And  see  whom  you  can  captivate  next.'' 

"  Ah,  I  wish  I  knew.  Since  I  lost  Claudius,  I  met  with  a 
very  kind-hearted,  good-humored  sort  of  a  fellow,  and  as  I  knew 
his  sister  Jived  with  him,  I  was  anxious  to  learn  what  sort  of 
creature  I  should  have  to  contend  with  in  her  ;  so  one  day.  with 
some  trivial  excuse  I  called  at  the  house.  Well,  she  appeared 
quite  affable,  and  I  concluded  she  would  suit  very  well,  and 
that  I  should  be  exceedingly  comfortable  with  such  a  sister-in- 
law.  Soon  her  brother  came  in,  and  going  up  to  him  she  ex- 
claimed  in  a  loud,  angry  tone,  '  And  is  this  the  one  you  mean  ',' ' 
pointing  at  me,  '  A  man  of  your  age  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
choosing  such  a  trifling,  giddy  thing;  why,  I  find  she  knows 
nothing  of  the  domestic  arrangements  of  a  house.  Who  do  you 
suppose  will  sew  on  your  buttons  for  you,  and  take  care  of  you 
when  you  are  ill  ?  And  don't  expect  to  come  to  me,  is  it  likely 
I  would  do  anything  for  you  with  such  a  wife  as  that.  ' 

<;  I  looked  at  her  in  profound  astonishment,  and  at  last  was 
going  to  reply  when  her  brother  said  entreatingly,  '  Oh,  do 
please  to  go,  Miss  Danver's,  for  I'm  afraid  my  sister  will  get 
rather  angry.'  " 

I  said  not  a  word,  but  walked  out.  I  had  nothing  to  regret, 
for  he  was  not  very  handsome,  and  Anna,  you  will  see,  whoever 
I  marry  will  be  some  one  to  look  at.     Good-by." 

"  Susan,  what  shall  we  do  when  they  are  gone  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Gilbert,  as  she  stood  looking  very  disconsolate  at  the  door  of  her 
daughter's  dressing  room,  while  its  occupant  sat  before  the  mir- 
ror busily  employed  in  making   her  toilet,  for  as  long  as  Mr. 


a  spinster's  story.  281 

Wentworth  remained  in  the  house,  it  behooved  her  to  render 
herself  as  prepossessing  as  possible  ;  because,  although  he  ap- 
peared to  take  no  notice  of  tier,  men  were  very  strange  beings, 
there  was  no  telling  what  they  thought,  and  who  knew  but  that 
in  the  end  she  might  make  an  impression?  "  Susan,  do  you 
hear  me  *?     I  say  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

''  What  will  you  do,  you  mean,  for  I  know  very  well  what  I 
shall  do  ;  that  old  Mrs.  Barrow  is  getting  very  infirm,  and  I 
shall  offer  my  services  to  take  care  of  their  household  affairs  ; 
but  as  to  you,  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  you,  and  I'm 
sure  I  don't  care." 

"  Oh  dear  !  I  wish  I  were  in  my  grave  !  "  And  the  poor 
old  lady  took  up  her  apron  to  wipe  away  the  tears  that  rolled 
down  the  furrowed  cheeks. 

"  Well,  you  may  go  there  as  soon  as  you  like,  only  don't 
trouble  me."   ' 

"  Susan,  you're  a  very  wicked  sinner,  you  need  never  expect 
to  be  married,  for  you  don't  deserve  it ;  remember  it's  a  very 
good  thing  for  you  that  Alfred  is  dead,  for  he  would  have  told 
everything,  and  goodness  knows  what  would  have  become  of 
you  then  ;  you  wouldn't  have  been  here,  setting  yourself  off  to 
the  best  advantage,  I  can  tell  you,  for  you  would  have  been  in 
the  jail." 

"  Oh  well,  I  might  stand  a  very  good  chance,  even  in  a  pris- 
on. I  might  become  the  wife  of  the  governor,  or  of  some  rich 
man  put  there  for  some  very  trivial  offence,  in  fact  I  should 
never  despair  in  any  place  but  a  nunnery.     I  shall  — " 

"  Susan,  those  are  mine  you're  putting  on,  you'll  wear  thena 
out." 

"  That's  what  they  were  made  for  ;  give  me  the  other." 

"  Susan,  I  see  you're  getting  into  a  furious  passion  ;  but  I 
know  it's  all  my  own  fault,  for  when  you  were  in  your  cradle, 
your  father  said  to  me,  '  Albeitina  Susanna,  I'm  afraid,  my  dear, 
that  girl  will  be  nothing  but  a  bore  to  you,'  and  I'm  sure  he 
was  right,  dear  good  man.  Ah,  what  a  good  husband  he  was, 
there  are  not  such  men  now  as  there  used  to  be." 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  Susan,  "  for  there  used  to  be  giants 
in  the  world  at  one  time,  and  we  haven't  any  now.  But  1  hear 
some  one  coming  up  stairs.  Oh,  it's  only  you,  Sally  Pyke,  I 
was  afraid  it  was  a  visitor." 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Susan,  I  hear  you  are  going  to  lose  Anna  al- 
together, indeed  it  is  too  bad  after  all  you  have  done  for  them  ; 
but  what  sort  of  a  mau  is  her  father,  is  there  any  chance  of 
your  catching  him  '(  " 


'->-  A    SPINSTER'S    STOIIV. 

"  Tlierc  s  no  cliance  for  you,  Sally  Pyke,  so  don't  flatter 
yourself —  " 

••  And  your  house  has  been  ahomefor  Anna  so  long, —  yes,  it 
is  ungrateful  to  take  her  away  from  you,  of  course  you  arc  very 
nine!)  attached  to  her,  I  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  tender,  feel- 
ing heart.  ;  oh  yes,  Susan,  I  can  sympathize  with  you.  But 
you  are  just  in  the  same  humor  as  when  1  came  to  tell  }rou  of 
the  death  of  Mr.  Long,  and  I  shall  leave  you." 

Going  m  search  of  Anna,  she  found  her  where  Kate  had  sur- 
prised her,  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa  viewing  the  likeness  of 
Lydia. 

"  Oh  my  dearest  Anna,  I  am  so  delighted  to  see  you,  I've 
come  on  purpose  to  congratulate  you  upon  leaving  the  walls  of 
this  prison  house  ;  I've  just  been  speaking  to  Susan  about  it, 
I'm  always  very  candid,  and  I  told  her  no  one  could  wonder  at 
your  going  away  when  they  thought  of  the  treatment  you've 
received  ;  I  know  you  have  suffered  everything  with  that  old 
woman  and  Susan.  But  I  suppose  your  father  is  very  wealthy, 
and  you  will  remove  to  a  very  elegant  house,  and  see  a  great 
deal  of  company,  and  no  one  will  be  more  pleased  than  myself. 
I  shall  often  call  upon  you  to  talk  over  old  times,  that  old  ma- 
chine of  a  Barrow,  and  the  like  ;  and  Anna,  you'll  have  plenty 
of  offers.  Ah,  I  had  once  !  "  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  but  this  world 
is  not  fortunate  to  all,  its  blessings  are  very  unequally  divided, 
I'm  sure,  for  there's  that  empty  little  Kate  always  finding  some 
one  to  pay  her  every  attention,  while  a  sensible  woman  like  me 
is  never  noticed, — " 

Susan  entered  to  whisper  something  to  Anna,  and  although 
she  appeared  very  pleasant,  it  was  evident  the  attempt  to  seem 
so  was  difficult,  and  that  for  the  present  the  violent  temper  was 
high  as  ever.  "  But  I  always  look  upon  all. events  of  life  as 
sent  for  our  good,"  continued  Miss  Pyke,  "  and  Susan,  you  will 
find  it  the  greatest  consolation,  for  if  we  are  to  be  old  maids, 
why  we  shall,  and  it's  no  use  to  repine." 

"  Anna,"  said  Mr.  Wentworth's  voice  at  the  door,  "  are  you 
particularly  engaged  ?  " 

"  Sally  Pyke,  you  bad  better  go  now,"  said  Susan  opening 
the  door. 

Mr.  Wentworth  entered  the  room,  and  bowing  to  Miss  Pyke 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  low  courtesy  of  that  lady,  turned  to 
Anna. 

"  Susan,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  Sail}'  Pyke,  its  dis- 
respectful." 

*•  Vim  must  excuse  me  just  now,"  said  Anna  turning  to  their 
.-,  '•  '  may  be  at  leisure  the  next  time  you  come." 


a  spinster's  story.  283 

"Then  good-by,  my  dear,"  and  as  she  drew  Anna  tow;  in  Is 
her,  and  bent  over  her,  the  latter  could  not  elude  the  kiss  of 
the  deceitful  woman,  and  glad  to  be  relieved  of  the  painted 
cheek,  returned  the  salutation,  and  joined  her  father  in  another 
roorri. 

Mr.  Wentworth  closed  the  door,  and  drawing  Anna  towards 
him,  placed  his  arm  round  her,  and   looked  earnestly  into  her 

face. 

'•  What,  pa  ?  "  said  Anna  in  a  tremulous  voice,  as  she  saw  his 
countenance  was  troubled. 

lie  made  no  answer,  but  led  her  to  a  seat,  and  again  fixed 
his  eyes  intently  upon  her.  At  last,  bending  lower  the  tall 
{inure,  that  she  might  hear  mis  words,  he  said  in  a  low  tone, . 
"  That  Lydia  you  think  so  much  of — is — " 

"  What,  pa  —  have  you  heard  anything  about  her  —  do  tell 
me,  please  do  ?  " 

"  Anna,  guess."  So  sad  was  his  countenance  and  deliberate 
his  words,  that  Anna  knew  the  circumstance  he  was  about  to 
relate,  must  be  the  most  painful. 

"  Is  Lydia  still  living  I  " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  Is  she  dangerously  ill  ?  " 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  Then  she  is  married  to  Mr.  Everett,  and  is  unhappy." 

"  I've  heard  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Oh,  what  have  you  heard  of  her  ?  " 

''  Nothing ;  but  I  know  she  is  — " 

"  What !  oh  please  tell !  " 

"Your  cousin!"  His  head  fell  upon  the  shoulder  of  his 
daughter,  and  his  tears  fell  fast  over  her  neck. 

"  But  my  father,  why  should  it  distress  you  ?  Oh,  can  I  not 
comfort  you  '?  Lydia,  my  own  cousin  ?  Tell  me  all,  my  own 
father  !  we,  relations  of  Lydia  !  can  that  be  a  cause  for  grief  ? 
oh  tell  me  all !  " 

She  raised  the  drooping  head,  and  wiped  away  the  tears  that 
were  falling  in  rapid  succession  ;  recovering  himself,  he  again 
threw  his  arms  about  her  and  cried,  "  Oh  Anna,  my  child,  can 
anything  be  found  to  relieve  me  —  no,  nothing.  Read  that  pa- 
per. Remember  my  neglect, —  the  cause  of  Alfred's  death,  and 
tell  me,  could  a  balm  be  found  ?     No  !  " 

Anna  took  the  newspaper,  and  read  the  following  advertise- 
ment which  his  finger  pointed  out. 

"  The  offspring  of  Deborah  Ceoile  Villiers  of  La  Belle,  near  Halle 
Prussia,  will,  if  a  male,  hear  of  something  greatly  to  his  advantage  by, 


284  a  spinster's  story. 

forwarding  his  address  to  Benjamin  Metallur^istneuf.  7.  Unter  den 
I, in  l'ii.  Berlin,  Prussia.  Any  informant  of  the  party  will  be  liberally 
rewarded." 

"  Anna,  my  child,  said  Mr.  Wentworth,  who  had  now  re- 
gained  his  composure,  "that  woman  spoken  of  here  was  your 
mother  ;  her  father  was  a  stern-,  obdurate  man,  Imt  my  wife  was 
like  In sr  mother,  gentle,  amiable,  and  of  a  most  loving  disposi- 
tion. I  knew  of  the  austere  bearing  of  the  father,  and  I  saw 
him  but  once,  fori  used  to  meet  my  Cecile  at  their  town  resi- 
dence in  Berlin,  where  Lady  Villiers  passed  the  season  with 
her  children,  her  husband  remaining  at  La  Belle  ;  and  it  was 
on  one  of  those  occasions  that  the  noble  Lady  Villiers,  knowing 
of  Ceeile's  attachment  to  me,  willingly  gave  her  up,  and  prom- 
ised to  bear  all  the  blame  of  the  angry  father  herself.  Now,  as 
Charles  is  dead,  undoubtedly  my  Ceeile's  Alfred,  my  own  wife's 
beautiful  boy,  would,  were  he  living,  be  heir  to  La  Belle.  But 
I  neglected  my  children — oh  Alfred,  my  boy,  my  sou  Al- 
fred I  " 


CHAPTER  XXTX. 

"All  the  world's  a  stage. 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players  : 
They  have  their  •xits,  and  their  entrances; 
And  one  man  in  his  time  plays  many  parts." 

"  Beautiful  Beatrice  !  May  our  endeavors  in  search  of  you 
be  crowned  with  success,  then  we  shall  learn  your  sad  story,  and 
you,  lovely  girl,  will  discover  that  whatever  change  may  come 
over  you,  your  old  friends  of  the  'Wing  of  the  West-'  remain 
true  and  affectionate  as  ever." 

Lydia  now  joined  her  mother,  and  they  set  out  on  their 
morning's  errand  —  the  discovery  of  the  lost  favorite. 

"  Oh  Beatrice  !  "  continued  Lydia,  "  the  joyful  thought  of 
seeing  you  almost  overwhelms  me." 

"  Lyddie  dear,  try  to  be  more  moderate  in  the  indulgence  of 
your  joy,  remember  you^may  be  disappointed,  poor  Beatrice  has 
undoubtedly  suffered  much,  and  it  may  be  that  her  strength 
which  she  exerted  too  freely,  has  at  last  failed,  never  to  rally, 
for,  from  the  distressing  accounts  in  the  papers,  we  could  scarce- 
ly lie  surprised  to  hear  that  Beatrice  is  no  more." 

Upon   asking  information  of  the  Lessee  of  the  opera  house, 


a  spinster's  stoet.  285 

liis  reply  was,  "  I  can  give  you  Mademoiselle's  direction,  ladies, 
lmt  I  can  scarcely  offer  you  any  hope  of  seeing  her,  for  when 
I  called  there  last  night,  they  told  me  she  was  very  low  with 
the  typhoid  fever,  and  that  her  physicians  forbade  any  one  see- 
in- her."  _  _  , 

The  residence  to  which  they  were  referred  they  found  to  be  a 
house  that  appeared  to  have  been  the  dwelling  of  some  of  the 
nobility,  though  it  now  wore  the  air  of  neglect  and  decay. 
Their  knock  was  answered  by  a  man  who  looked  inquiringly  at 
them  as  they  asked  for  Beatrice,  and  repeated  the  dame  several 
times  without  making  a  reply ;  at  last  he  said  with  an  indiffer- 
ent gesture  "  venez  avec  moi  ; "  he  then  led  the  way  through  a 
spacious  hall,  up  a  handsome  stair-case,  and  through  an  elegant 
suite  of  apartments  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and  taking  them 
up  a  dark  flight  of  stairs  to  a  small  chamber,  said,  as  he  mo- 
tioned them  to  enter,  "  Assayez  vous,"  and  instantly  closed  the 
door  upon  them. 

"What  can  the  man  mean,  ma?  "  said  Lydia,  her  counte- 
nance betokening  much  alarm. 

"  I  don't  know,  child,  I  should  like  to  know  what  sort  of  a 
house  this  is  ;  I'm  very  glad  I  didn't  let  you  come  alone  the 
other  day  when  you  urged  me  so." 

After  waiting  some  time,  and  hearing  no  more,  Mrs.  Villiers 
arose,  and  tried  the  doors  that  led  out  of  the  room  ;  not  one 
could  be  opened. 

"  Lyddie,  we  must  consider  what  is  best  to  be  done." 
"  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do  to  scream  for  help  ?  " 
"  No,  it  may  be  better  for  us  to  remain  quiet  and  summon 
courage."  Again  they  seated  themselves  and  all  was  quiet, 
until  the  noise  as  of  something  being  drawn  along  the  floor  of 
the  room  below,  together  with  the  murmur  of  voices,  fell  upon 
the  ear. 

"Oh,  ma,  I  think  we  ought  to  try  to  do  se-mething,"  and  in 
a  fit  of  desperation,  Lydia  struck  with  her  full  force  one  of  the 
doors.  It  flew  open,  but  no  way  of  escape  presented  itself,  for 
only  a  closet  was  before  them.  Lydia  went  to  another  door, 
and  after  much  force  and  pressure,  it  also  yielded.  It  opened 
into  a  bed-chamber,  the  furniture  of  which  was  in  great  disor- 
der, the  bed  as  if  the  occupant  had  just  risen,  while  hats,  coats, 
etc.,  strewed  the  floor. 

"  Lyddie,  we're  certainly  in  a  gentleman's  room." 
"  Listen,  ma,  I  hear  some  one  screaming  !  " 
"  Courage,  Lydia  !     How  can  we  get  out  of  this  room  ?  " 
"  Here's  a  door,  no,  only  a  closet;  what's  behind   this  cur- 
tain,—  oh  yes,  this  is  one,  and  — it  opens." 


286  A    SPINSTERS    STORY. 

Tr  led  into  a  small  unoccupied  chamber,  that  opened  upon  a 
flight  of  stairs  ;  they  descended  and  entered  a  long  gallery,  but 
met  no  one. 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  Still  hear  a  scream  !  " 

"  I  know,  child,  we're  now  goiOg#n  the  direction  of  it," 

They  knocked  at  the  first  door  they  came  to,  but  received  no 
answer;  the  same  disappointment  awaited  them  at  the  second. 

"  We  will  wait  here  a  moment,  Lyddie,  some  one  may  come 

by." 

The  screams  now  came  louder,  and  anxious  to  hurry  forward 
to  learn  the  cause,  fearing  it  was  Beatrice,  Mrs.  Villiers  tried 
the  door  before  which  they  stood  ;  it  opened  to  them.  The 
apartment  was  a  bed-chamber  most  elegantly  furnished  with 
everything  that  art  and  taste  could  produce.  Dresses  of  the 
must  costly  texture,  were  thrown  over  sofas  and  chairs,  bouquets 
of  natural  flowers  strewed  the  floor  in  great  profusion,  while 
some  of  the  most  exquisitely  made  artificials  were  artistically 
arranged  into  wreaths  of  all  devices.  They  passed  into  an  ad- 
joining apartment,  here  was  an  open  piano,  where  the  stool  and 
sheets  of  music  appeared  recently  used.  In  the  centre  of  the 
room  was  a  table  containing  jewels  most  rare  and  costly,  while 
their  lustre,  as  they  shone  in  their  diversity  of  colors,  was  daz- 
zlingly  brilliant,  They  passed  through  to  the  next  room  ;  the 
furniture  of  this  was  plain  and  simple,  on  a  table  was  a  half- 
finished  letter,  and  an  open  prayer  book  of  the  church  of  Rome. 
Looking  to  the  right,  they  saw  over  the  fire-place  wherein  a 
cheerful  fire  was  brightly  blazing,  a  large,  handsome  crucifix, 
before  which,  upon  the  floor,  knelt  the  form  of  a  little  female, 
holding  in  her  hand  a  rosary  over  which  the  head  was  bended. 
On  seeing  her,  they  retreated  into  the  adjoining  room,  intend- 
ing to  await  until  she  had  finished  her  devotions.  They  con- 
tinued to  linger  there  in  silence,  but  the  figure  never  stirred. 
Again  came  the  screams,  and  in  order  to  find  the  passage,  they 
again  entered  the  chamber.  In  passing  through,  Lydia  turned 
over  a  chair  which  struck  the  worshipper  with  some  force  upon 
the  shoulder ;  in  her  haste  Lydia  made  an  apology,  still  the 
figure  remained  motionless  as  though  it  had  been  marble.  Mov- 
ing on,  and  examining  the  various  doors,  they  found  access  to  a 
flijrht  of  stairs  thai  led  to  the  floor  below.  The  distressing 
sounds  were  now  more  subdued,  still  it  was  evident  they  were 
approaching  the  place  whence  they  proceeded.  Landing  upon  a 
long  hall,  they  passed  to  the  further  end,  where  was  an  open 
door,  and  voices  speaking  in  broken  English  could  distinctly  be 
heard.  They  knocked,  and  a  girl  bearing  the  appearance  of  a 
waiting  maid,  emerged  from  the  room. 


A    SPIXSTKlfs    STORY.  287 

"What  13  the  matter  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Villiers,  in  a  voice 
that  betokened  much  agitation. 

"  Did  you  never  live  in  dis  house  before,  mesdames?"  and 
for  a  few  seconds  the  girl  looked  inquisitively  at  them,  then  pass- 
ing on  said,  "  oh,  if  you  stay  here  you  often  have  dat  noise,  dat 
lady  make  vere  much  crying." 

••  What  is  her  name  '■  "  inquired  Lydia. 

"  Oh,  she  have  two  names,  no  one  know  which  is  de  right." 

"  Is  she  ever  called  Mademoiselle  Sauvestre  ?  " 

"  I  forget  —  I  tink  so  —  she  sing  at  de  opera  ;  yes,  dat  is 
one  of  de  name-,  for  I  hear  dem  all  say  when  she  come,  '  La 
belle  demoiselle,  Mademoiselle  Sauvestre  ; ' "  and  humming  a 
peasant  song,  she  walked  away. 

Mrs.  Villiers  and  Lydia  now  entered  the  apartment,  and 
passed  into  a  sort  of  ante-room,  where  came  the  audible  words, — 

"  Oh,  please  leave  me  —  do  not  so  disturb  me  —  let  me  die  ! 
oh,  hear  me,  this  body  will  soon  moulder  in  the  dust  —  let  it 
rest  for  the  little  time  that  remains  to  it  !  Oh,  leave  me  to  my- 
self, I've  but  a  short  time  to  live  ;  oh,  take  anything  that  be- 
longs to  me,  only  leave  me  a  little  time  to  pray,  I've  much  to 
be  forgiven  —  oh,  let  me  alone  for  a  moment  —  for  pity's  sake 
have  compassion  !  It  was  a  familiar  voice,  and  they  approached 
the  door  of  the  room  whence  the  sound  proceeded ;  but  no  one 
answered  their  knock,  and  the  door  was  secured  upon  the  inside. 
They  listened,  and  heard  the  low  deep  tones  of  a  firm  mascu- 
line voice,  as  if  reasoning  with  the  pleader,  to  which  came  in 
the  same  sweet,  musical  sounds,  the  earnest  entreaty, — 

"  But  I've  no  wish  to  live  —  I've  no  one  to  live  for,  without 
one  friend  ou  earth,  why  should  I  care  for  life  '?  No,  leave  me 
to  die  !  " 

"  Oh,  mother,  it  is  Beatrice  !     We  must  see  her  !  " 

They  knocked  loudly  at  the  door,  there  came  no  answer,  and 
soon  all  within  that  room  was  still,  not  a  sound  escaped.it.  At 
last  the  door  opened,  and  a  lady  attired  in  a  morning  costume 
of  richly  wrought  embroidery,  began  to  pass  through  the  ante- 
room ;  the  face,  which  wore  a  kindly  expression,  bore  the  traces 
of  much  weeping,  and  the  tears  were  still  fast  flowing  over  the 
disordered  tresses  that  fell  over  the  shoulders.  In  answer  to 
the  earnest  inquiry,  she  appears  anxious  to  leave  them,  but 
turning  to  Mrs.  Villiers,  said  with  a  faint  smile,  "  Thank  you 
madame,  it's  all  over  now,  but  she  suffered  —  oh   so  much  !  " 

"  Oh,  is  she  dead  ?  "  cried  Lydia,  seizing  her  shawl  to  detain 
her. 

''  Oh  ;  I  trust  not,  Mademoiselle,  I  mean  the  operation  is  all 
over  now." 


288  a  spinster's  story. 

"  Can  we  not  see  her?  " 

"  I  think  no!,  the  physicians  desire  that  she  may  be  kept 
perfectly  qruiel  ;  but  if  you  are  friends,  and  do  not  speak,  you 
might  go  in  and  look  at  her." 

They  entered  ;  the  room  was  shaded  almost  to  darkness,  yet 
there  was  sufficient  light  to  show  the  apartment  was  most  ele- 
gantly furnished.  Around  a  couch  which  was  festooned  with 
costly  lace,  stiit id  several  ladies  and  the  physicians  ;  all  moved 
aoist  lessly  about  the  room,  and  when  the  strangers  drew  near, 
one  old  lady  pushed  them  back  with  a  frown,  saying  in  a  low 
whisper,  "  Hush  !  go  away,  please." 

Lydia  caught  both  her  hands,  and  answered  in  the  midst  of 
her  tears,  "  Oh,  we  are  friends  —  her  only  friends." 

With  a  contemptuous  curl  of  the  lip,  the  lady  moved  away 
and  they  approached  the  couch,  carefully  avoiding  any  recogni- 
tion of  them  by  the  invalid.  Yes,  it  was  the  favorite,  the  beau- 
tiful Beatrice  ;  the  eyes  were  closed,  and  she  appeared  to  be 
sleeping,  although  from  the  countenance  any  one  might  have 
thought  she  slept  the  sleep  of  death  ;  two  of  the  physicans  held 
each  of  them  a  hand,  while  a  third  was  administering  applica- 
tions to  the  temples. 

"  Well,  we  can  do  no  more,"  said  one  of  the  ladies  to  the 
others,"  let  us  go,  she  will  sleep  now. 

They  left  the  room  together,  leaving  only  a  maid,  who  still 
lingered  at  the  foot  of  the  couch.  Two  of  the  medical  men 
were  about  to  depart,  when  Mrs.  Villiers  followed  them  into  the 
ante-room,  to  learn  something  of  the  sufferer.  On  asking  if  the 
case  were  dangerous,  they  gave  but  little  satisfaction,  and  seem- 
ed anxious  to  evade  the  questions. 

"  But  tell  me,"  said  the  widow,  "  do  you  think  she  may  re- 
cover ?  " 

"  Pent-etre,"  replied  the  Frenchman,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, and  with  a  profound  bow  left  the  house. 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  give  her  up  yet,"  said  the  other  doctor,  look- 
ing into  the  anxious  face  of  Mrs.  Villiers.  "  She  needs  the 
greatest  of  care,  but  I  believe  life  is  still  vigorous.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  so,  for  it's  too  sad  for  such  a  young  lady  to  die,  without 
being  able  to  leave  that  voice  and  talent  behind.  But  to  be 
candid,  I  also  think  it  will  be  a  miracle  if  she  survives ;  still 
again,  proper  attention  may  do  it,  —  time  only  can  tell," 

"  I  wonder  how  soon  she  could  be  moVed  ?  " 

"  Well,  madam,  whenever  there  are  sufficient  signs  for  the 
better.  I  shall  be  here  several  times  a  day,  and  can  inform 
you  of  the  change ;  "  and  he  was  gone. 


a  spinster's  story.  2S9 

Beatrice  still  slept,  and  leaving  several  directions  with  the 
maid,  the  other  physician  took  his  leave.  While  Lydia  remain- 
ed in  the  sick  chamber,  Mrs.  Villiers  went  in  quest  of  the  land- 
lady, and  was  shown  into  a  back  drawing-room,  where  she  was 
informed  that  madame  was  not  yet  up,  but  would  join  her  very 
shoitly. 

After  waiting  some  time,  a  corpulent  lady  entered,  and  upon 
the  widow's  stating  that  her  errand  was  in  regard  to  Madem- 
oiselle Sauvestre,  and  that  she  desired  to  have  the  invalid  re- 
moved to  her  own  home  as  soon  as  it  were  possible,  the  lady 
looked  surprised,  and  rather  peremptorily  replied, — 

"  A  friend  of  Mademoiselle  placed  her  in  my  charge,  and 
as  he  appears  very  fond  of  her,  he  spares  no  expense  for  her 
comfort,  and  I  am  sure  would  be  angry  if  I  aFlowed  her  to  leave 
here." 

"  But  if,  when  she  is  conscious,  she  should  prefer  to  go,  you 
would  not  wish  to  detain  her." 

"Oh,  that's  not  very  likely,"  rising  to  go,  "  I  have  offered 
Mademoiselle  an  asylum  here  during  her  illness,  and  I'm  cer- 
tain she  will  not  leave  it  to  go  among  strangers,  for  although 
you  may  call  yourselves  friends,  you  cannot  be,  as  Mademoi- 
selle says  she  has  none  in  the  world." 

"  But  however,  you  will  allow  us  to  come  here  and  nurse 
her  ?  " 

*'  Well  —  I  suppose  so." 

On  returning  to  the  chamber  of  the  sufferer,  Mrs.  Villiers 
found  Beatrice  still  sleeping,  though  the  slumber  was  much  dis- 
turbed and  broken  Speaking  kindly  to  the  Italian  girl  in 
behalf  of  her  mistress,  at  whose  feet  she  still  was  sitting,  and 
promising  to  send  again  in  the  evening,  she  led  the  sorrowing 
Lydia  from  the  room,  and  they  pursued  their  way  homeward. 

For  several  successive  days,  Lydia,  accompanied  by  a  ser- 
vant, took  her  seat  in  the  sick  room,  where  she  could  keep  a 
constant  vigil  over  the  invalid  without  being  seen  by  her,  should 
she  awake  to  consciousness ;  and  as  evening  came  on  Mrs.  Vil- 
liers relieved  her  for  the  night. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day,  as  Lydia  sat  at  a  bay 
window,  half  hidden  by  the  rich  hangings,  that  Beatrice  began 
to  evince  signs  of  consciousness.  Hitherto  she  had  often  spok- 
en incoherently,  sometimes  in  English,  French  and  Italian,  of 
her  lost  friends,  and  on  one  occasion  had  risen  and  attempted 
to  prepare,  for  the  opera,  notwithstanding  the  earnest  expostu- 
lations of  her  maid,  the  faithful  Annette  ;  but  finding  herself 
unequal  to  the  completion  of  her  toilet,  sunk  back  upon  her 
13 


'290  a  spinster's  story. 

ooucli   exhausted;    and  al  another  time,  about   midnight, 
arose,  ;unl   exclaimed,,  "  Oh,  1  must  go  and  seek   my   relations. 
What  are  the  laurels  of  fame  without  any  one  to  love  you  ;  let  me 
an!     Ol),    my   strength faild — I   cannot!     Annette,  support 
me  !  " 

But  this  morning  she  was  perfectly  calm,  and  manifested  a 
rational  perception  of  all  that  occurred. 

"Annette,"  said  she,  placing  her  hand  affectionately  upon 
the  cheek  of  her  maid,  "  how  long  have  I  been  ill  ?  " 

"  Not  very  long,  Mademoiselle,  and  you  are  much  better  to- 
day." 

"  True,  Annette  ;  and  the  ladies  in  the  house  have  been 
very  kind,  and  if  anything  should  prevent  my  thanking  them, 
do  you  Annette,  please  do  so  for  me.  Tell  them  how  very  grate- 
ful I  was  for  their  indefatigable  exertions.  Do  you  know 
whether  any  one  has  inquired  for  me  ?  " 

"Yes;  two  lady  friends,  who  are  anxiously  awaiting  your 
recovery  that  they  maybe  permitted  to  see  you.*' 

"  Oh,  who  are  they  '(  I  am  well  now,  please  sen  I  word  ;  —  do 
let  them  come." 

"  Oh,  Mademoiselle,"  interposing  her  endeavors  to  rise, 
"  please  wait  until  you  are  a  little  more  recovered  ;  if  they  are 
particular  friends  you've  not  seen  for  a  long  time,  you  an;  too 
weak  for  the  surprise.  Do  please  keep  perfectly  still.  Shall  I 
read  to  you  what  the  papers  say  of  your  success,  and  the  regret 
the  public  manifest  for  your  suffering  ?  " 

"  No,  Annette,  thank  you  ;  they  are  very  kind,  but  read  me 
something  better.  Good,  kind  Annette,  look  in  that  trunk',  and 
find  a  Bible  or  prayer-book,  and  rea  I  from  that  ;  because  you 
know,  I  have  been  between  life  and  death,  and  I  have  need  of 
better  thoughts  than  the  opera, —  which  is  very  well  in  its  place, 
but  not  for  to-day,  Annette.  Oh,  I  think  I  shall  soon  be  well, 
then  I  can  see  my  friends  ;  they  may  be  the  widow  and  the 
sweet  Lydia  !     But  I  must  be  patient" 

For  awhile  she- could  not  restrain  her  tears,  but  Annette  be- 
gan to  read,  and  Bhe  won  wiped  them  away.  The  lessons  and 
psalms  for  the  day  had  been  read,  and  Beatrice  took  the  prayer- 
book  to  read  a  favorite  hymn,  that  it  might  be  more  impressive 
than  in  the  broken  English  of  the  Italian  girl.  She  had  scarce- 
ly finished  when  the  door  opened,  and  the  corpulent  landlady 
entered. 

Her  usual  time  for  paying  a  visit  to  the  invalid  was  at  dusk, 
and  she  had  never  yet  seen  Lydia  ;  but  now  as  the  light  of  the 
morning  stole  through  the  casement,  any  one  who  took  a  survey 


a  spinster's  story.  291 

of  the  apartment  must   have  seen  part  of  the  figure  in  the  bay 
window- 
Seating  herself  with  a  violence  that  shook  the  room,  after  a 
close  inspection  of  everything  before  her,  she  said,  "  He  is  here, 
do  you  wish  to  sec  him  or  not  ?  " 

Beatrice  manifested  some  embarrassment,  and  thanking  her, 
turned  to  Annette  and  said  in  Italian,  "  Gro  tell  him  I  am  still 
very  weak,  but  as  soon  as  I  am  able  to  be  up,  I  will  see  him." 

The  corpulent  woman  arose  to  go,  and  as  she  turned,  her 
eyes  fell  upon  the  dress  and  arm  of  the  figure  that  was  partly 
concealed  by  the  curtains  of  the  bay  window  ;  approaching  it, 
she  unceremoniously  drew  the  drapery  aside,  ami  without  speak- 
ing, cast  a  scrutinizing  glance  upon  Lydia.  Probably,  she  had 
seen  many  beauties  in  her  time,  and  considered  herself  no  small 
connoisseur  of  such  qualifications ;  however,  having  looked 
searchinody  upon  her  for  some  time,  she  impaired  in  a  loud 
voice.  "  And  who  are  you,  young  lady  V  " 

Lydia  answered  in  a  low  whisper,  and  also  told  her  reason 
for  her  silence  and  seclusion  ;  but  her  listener  only  continued 
her  gaze  of  scrutiny,  and  appearing  to  pay  no  attention  to  her 
words,  exclaimed,  'Oh,  you  are  Mademoiselle  Lydia,  the  daugh- 
ter of  that  widow  lady  !  " 

Upon  hearing  the  words,  Beatrice  attempted  to  rise,  and  as  the 
thoughtless  woman  held  the  curtains  aside,  the  invalid  caught 
a  full  view  of  Lydia.  Whatever  ill  effects  might  follow  the 
recognition,  it  was  now  too  late  to  prevent,  and  kneeling  at  the 
side  of  the  couch,  the  arms  of  Lydia  were  soon  thrown  round 
the  delighted  Beatrice,  while  she  mingled  her  tears  with  those 
of  that  long  lost  favorite. 

The  last  snows  of  the  season  were  falling,  yet  the  streets  of 
Berlin  still  wore  the  aspect  of  mid  winter,  and  all  without  was 
cold,  drear,  and  deserted  ;  but  in  the  stately  mansion,  formerly 
known  as  the  town  residence  of  Sir  Charles  Villiers,  the  widow 
had,  through  the  kind  efforts  of  the  little  lawyer,  been  comfortably 
settled,  and  an  air  of  social  and  domestic  happiness  pervaded 
.  that  peaceful  dwelling.  Towards  the  west,  was  an  apartment 
whose  windows  were  noted  for  commanding  a  full  view  of  that 
part  of  the  street  Unter  den  Linden,  where,  amid  the  limes  that 
beautify  the  centre,  could  be  seen  many  of  the  principal  statues 
for  which  the  place  is  celebrated,  and  among  these  was  distinct- 
ly visible,  one  of  equestrian  form,  of  Frederick  the  Great,  prob- 
ably the  finest  in  Europe. 

But  to-day  the  view  was  obscured  by  the  blinds  which  were 


'202  A    SPIN'STERS   story. 

closely    drawn,  that    only   a    subdued    light   might   enter   tha* 
chamber.     On  a  couch   wheeled   before  a   bright  fire,  reclined 
the  form  of  the  lovely  Beatrice;  the  head   rested  upon  the  bo 
som  of  Lydia,  upon  whose  cheek  the  colorless  lips  were  closely 
pressed. 

'•  Oh,  Lyddie,  I've  so  very  much  to  tell." 

"  Yes,  dearest,  bul    not  at  present;  soon  I  hope  you  will  bo 
better  able  to  talk,  then  we  will  hear  all." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  He  comes!  'tis  no  false  dream  ! 
I  9ee  —  I  feel —  I  know  h  s's  by  my  side  — 
I  hear  the  voice— again  1  watch  that  smite; 

And  tell  mo,  not,  th riflnes  of  th  •  t  imb 

Encased  that  aoble  form,  all  this  I  know. — 
And  yet,  behold!  the  lov'd  and  lost  is  here." 

Tfi  vt  period  of  the  night  when  the  spirits  of  the  departed  am 
said  by  some  to  revisit  our  earth,  and  wander  again  in  the 
haunts  of  the  living,  was  past,  yet  those  streets  of  Philadelphia 
where  Claremont  Place  was  situated,  wore  the  same  undisturb- 
ed tranquility.  '  Soon  the  faint  grey  glimmerings  betokened  the 
gates  of  the  east  were  opened,  and  the  golden  luminary  had 
arisen  from  his  dreams  in  eastern  climes,  to  dissipate  in  his  si- 
lent approach  the  darkness  of  the -night,  and  radiate  the  scene 
with  the  beauty  of  the  early  dawn. 

A  virion  bright  and  beautiful  still  played  round  the  couch 
of  Anna.  Afar  off  on  the  ocean's  breast,  she  saw  a  gallant 
bark  gliding  swiftly  over  the  placid  waters  :  the  helm  pointed 
towards  her,  and  as  the  vessel  came  nearer,  she  beheld  a  youth 
standing  upon  the  deck,  pointing  upward;  as  he  waved  a  banner 
aloft  in  the  soft  air  of  the  morning.  Nearer  and  nearer,  and 
now  the  face  was  visible.  Yes,  she  was  not  deceived,  it  was 
Alfred!  his  eye  fell  upon  her,  and  he  called  loudty  "Anna! 
Anna!"  as  he  extended  his  arm  towards  her.  She  endeavored 
to  reach  it,  but  the  distance  was  too  great.  Again  came  the 
voice,  "  Anna,  it  is  I  —  come  to  me  —  let  me  see  you,  my  own 
Anna!" 

She  awoke  ;  still  there  was  the  same  voice,  the  same  words. 
Believing  herself  still  dreaming,  she  arose  and  listened.  Again 
it  came,  "  Anna  !     Anna  !  " 

She  was  now  fully  awake,  and  knew  the  sounds  to  be  real ; 


a  spixster's  story.  293 

but  the  voice  !     Never  had  but  one   resembled  it,  and   that 
bad  ceased  for  ever.     A  foot-fall  upon   the  stairs  thrilled   her 

very  soul,  and  yet  why  should  it,  when  that  cherished  form  had 
been  laid  within  the  dark  sepulchre  '( 

There  came  a  knock  at  her  door;  throwing  a  garment  about 
her,  she  opened  it.  The  form  of  a  man  was  before  her  ;  but 
as  yet  it  was  only  the  grey  dawn  of  day-break  that  fell  upon 
them,  and  she  couM  nol  discern  the  features  ;  still  the  attitude 
was  familiar,  and  half  in  wonder,  half  in  terror,  she  gazed  in 
silence.  She  felt  an  arm  drawn  round  her,  as  it  pressed  her  to 
the  bosom  of  the  unknown  ;  her  power  of  speech  was  gone, 
but  she  heard  a  blessing  breathed  upon  her,  as  his  lips  met  her 
cold  cheek  ;  then  she  was  lift;' 1  within  the  arms  and  conveyed 
to  the  parlor.  Gently  and  carefully  the  same  hands  placed  her 
upon  a  sofa,  and  again  the  arms  pressed  her  in  a  fond  embrace. 
At  last  he  held  her  from  him  to  loo!:  into  her  countenance,  and 
as  the  light  fell  upon  his  features,  she  started  from  her  resting- 
place  and  seized  the  candle;  a  female  form  passed  before  her 
to  interpose  her  movements,  saying,  "  Anna,  I'm  afraid  it  will 
be  the  death  of  you." 

Looking  up,  she  found  it  was  Susan,  whom  she  hail  not  no 
ticed  before;  but  the  woman  was  pale  as  death,  and  the  hand 
she  placed  upon  Anna  was  cold,  and  trembled  violently.  But. 
Anna  forced  her  aside,  and  saw  beside  her  the  figure  of  her  fa- 
ther bent  low  upon  the  floor,  while  his  hands  were  pressed  to 
bis  forehead.  Ilurriedly  taking  the  light,  she  held  it  close  to 
the  face  of  the  stranger,  but  it  fell  from  her  grasp,  and  breath- 
ing the  name  "  Alfred,"  she  fell  to  the  floor. 

Yes,  it  was  true  ;  Alfred  was  living  ! 

After  the  lapse  of  two  hours,  Anna  awoke  to  consciousness; 
and  as  the  light  of  clay  fell  fall  upon  them,  it  aroused  the  whole 
household  of  Mrs.  Gilbert  to  a  perfect  conception  of  what  was 
passing  around  them.  They  saw  the  living  Alfred  before  them, 
and  knew  it  was  he  and  none  other;  the  consternation  and  ter- 
ror of  the  astonished  parties  had  subsided  into  a  calm  wonder, 
and  all  were  ready  to  bear  him  tell  his  singular  tale,  except 
Mr*.  Gilbert,  who,  poor  old  lady,  was  completely  unnerved  by 
his  sudden  appearance;  for  as  soon  as  he  was  admitted  into  the 
house  he  had  been  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Went- 
worth,  and  fearing  some  new  alliance  had  been  formed  for 
Anna,  he  bad  rushed  unceremoniously  into  the  presence  of  the 
sleeping  Mrs.  Gilbert,  to  ascertain  who  the  strange  gentleman 
was  ;  but  both  she  and  Susan  ran  from  him  as  though  he  bad 
been    possessed  of  a  plague  ;    and   astonished  at  their   strange 


294  a  spixster's  story. 

manner,  fch  ■  cause  of  which  was  a  mystery  to  him,  ho  continued 
to  call  to  Anna  thai  he  might  see  his  sister,  and  learu  the 
whole  tralh.  Mr  Wentworth  beheld  them  running  from  the 
\  mth,  shrieking  the  name  of  Alfred;  he  looked  upon  him,  and 
saw  in  that  countenance  the  likeness  lie  had  so  often  pictured 
to  his  fancy,  and  confounded  beyond  description,  he  sunk  as 
though  stunned  by  a  blow,  into  a  state  of  unconsciousness.  But 
th  ■  attention  of  Alfred  was  entirely  absorbed  as  he  watched  the 
death-like  countenance  of  Anna;  he  had  often  known  her  to 
faint,  but  never  to  look  as  she  now  did  ;  however,  she  was  at 
last  restored,  and  then  it  was  Alfred's  turn  to  manifest  astonish- 
in  snt 

"  Why  are  you  all  dressed  in  black  ?  And  why,  if  you  were 
surprised  to  see  me,  need  you  all  be  so  astounded  at  the  sight 
of  rue  ?  " 

Anna  made  no  reply,  but  looking  across  the  room,  she  be- 
held her  father  standing  with  his  hand  pressed  closely  upon  his 
brow  ;  intense  suffering  was  depicted  in  his  countenance  ;  An- 
na understood  the  misery  under  which  he  was  laboring,  and  as 
she  looked  upon  him,  she  was  aroused  from  the  stupor  into 
which  the  bewilderment  had  thrown  her,  and  rising,  she  took 
the  hand  of  Alfred,  and  kneeling  before  the  agitated  man  said 
in  a  loud,  clear  voice,   "  Alfred,  my  brother,  this  is  our  father  !  " 

The  parent,  fell  upon  the  neck  of  his  son  ;  it  was  a  trying 
scene  to  all  who  beheld  it.  The  little  household  was  now  gath- 
ered within  that  apartment,  and  each  felt  the  power  of  that 
spectacle. 

The  morning  was  far  advanced  when  the  parlor  of  Mrs.  Gil- 
berl  again  presented  a  scene  of  tranquility  :  then,  as  Alfred 
learned  the  story  of  his  own  death  and  burial,  although  he  shed 
tears  at  the  thought  of  his  sister's  sorrow,  yet  the  merry  laugh 
so  long  absent,  again  rang  through  that  dwelling,  and  every 
near  neighbor  might  readily  have  known  that  Alfred  again 
in  »ved  in  the  land  of  the  living. 

His  tale  is  soon  told.  The  excitement  which  attended  Mr. 
Wentworth  when  he  first  learned  the  misfortune  of  his  son,  fol- 
lowed him  as  he  hastened  to  the  authorities  of  the  prison  ; 
through  mismanagement  and  carelessness,  many  of  the  books 
h  i  I  been  destroyed  by  the  fire,  and  while  those  remaining  were 
looked  into,  he  was  told  a  youth  had  recently  died,  but  as  well 
as  they  remembered,  and  could  ascertain,  he  bore  the  name  of 
Albert  Worth.  Upon  hearing  he  was  an  orphan,  and  without 
friends,  the  agitated  man  would  hear  no  more  ;  "  It  is  my  son  !  " 
exclaimed  he  in  his  agony,   "  it  is  Alfred,  send  his  body  to  me, 


A    SPlXSTICIt's    STORY.  '295 

lot  mo  have  those  cherished  remains  !     Oh,  my  son!     My  Al- 
fred !  " 

Si  inn  after,  a  new  governor  for  the  prison  was  appointed, 
and  a  fresh  list  of  the  prisoners  taken,  when  Alfred  was  found 
to  be  one  of  them  ;  hut  lie  never  heard  any  one  had  inquired 
fur  him,  and  gave  himself  over  to  the  misery  of  his  unhappy 
lot. 

The  last  moments  of  Claudius  Hunt  were  drawing  nigh,  and 
although  his  afflicted  old  father  insisted  that  as  Alfred  was  dead 
there  was  no  occasion  for  a  public  confession,  still  the  young 
man  remained  unsatisfied  ;  and  at  last,  finding  it  preyed  upon 
his  son's  mind,  and  prevented  his  dying  in  peace,  the  father 
consented  ;  and  while  Mr.  Wentworth  was  busily  engaged  in 
correspondence  with  the  little  lawyer  in  Prussia,  and  paying  no 
attention  to  the  daily  papers,  Alfred's  innocence  was  acknowl- 
edged, and  the  rejoiced  youth  obtained  his  release;. 

The  five  months  Alfred  had  passed  in  close  confinement  had 
wrought  a  remarkable  change  in  his  appearance  ;  he  was  much 
taller,  yet,  though  he  was  very  thin,  and  his  frame  manifested 
great  debility,  his  constitution  appeared  but  little  if  at  all  im- 
paired. 

At  the  breakfast  table  that  morning,  very  little  was  eaten, 
not  because  the  state  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  nerves  absorbed  every 
one's  attention  as  they  looked  upon  the  excited  old  lady,  nor 
because  in  her  bewilderment  she  obliged  them  to  swallow  sweets 
intermingled  with  some  saline  property,  for  under  her  present 
state  of  excitement  all  this  was  excusable  and  none  complained. 
But  Alfred  had  to  learn  that  the  noble  Charles  was  dead,  that 
he  himself  was  the  cousin  of  the  fascinating  Lydia,  and  also  the 
heir  of  La  Belle,  of  which  he  had  heard  his  cousins  speak  with 
such  delight.  Mr.  Wentworth  proposed  they  should  make  a 
circuitous  route  through  some  of  the  principal  cities  of  the  United 
States  and  the  Canadas,  before  taking  their  departure  for 
Prussia.  But  as  soon  as  the  meal  was  ended,  the  brother  and 
sister  repaired  without  delay  to  the  humble  dwelling  of  the  un- 
fortunate Claudius  Hunt.  Anna  found  him  still  conscious,  al- 
though lingering  upon  the  very  verge  of  the  grave.  Having 
duly  prepared  him  for  the  great  surprise,  Anna  called  Alfred 
into  the  room.  He  knew  him,  craved  his  forgiveness,  and  fell 
back,  saying,  "  That  is  all  —  now  I  can  die  in  peace  !  " 

Alfred  promised  faithfully  to  provide  for  the  aged  father  for 
the  remainder  of  his  life,  whereupon  the  young  man  expressed 
t!c  deepest  gratitude,  until  a  change  came  over  him,  and  dur- 
ing the  hour  they  remained  with  him,  calmly  and  peacefully  he 


296  a  spinster's  stoky. 

took  his  leave  of  them, —  once  spoke  of  the  pretty  Kate  who  1ml 
so  cruelly  deserted  him  in  tbe  hour  of  trial,  winch  Bhe  herself 
ha  1  inflicted  upon  bim  ;  then,  as  they  knelt  round  the  bed,  sup- 
porting th"  sorrow-stricken  old  man,  the  Claudius,  so  full  of 
promise,  breathed  his  last. 

At  last  tbe  necessary  preparations  were  made,  the  proposed 
trip  taken,  and  after  the  lapse  of  a  month,  the  three  returned, 
mucb  benefited,  to  Philadelphia,  and  began  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  their  final  departure. 

"  Come,  Anna,"  said  Alfred  one  morning,  "  let  us  go  and  bid 
adieu  to  the  bed-ridden  Barrow  ;  and  while  on  our  way,  I'll  tell 
you  how  I  surprise!  poor  Silly  Pyke  the  morning  I  returned 
home;  that  stupid  little  appendage  of  a  Peggy  who  lives  wit1; 
her,  ran  to  her  room  before  she  was  awake,  exclaiming,  '  He's 
alive  again,  ma'am,  he  didn't  die  as  they  said  he  did.'  '  Is  it 
Mr.  Long?'  inquired  her  mistress.  'Yes,  ma'am,'  replied 
the  child,  '  he's  very  long,  a  great  deal  higher  than  I  am.'  I 
could  hear  a  confusion  in  the  lady's  room,  then  opening  her 
door  she  exclaimed,  '  I  believe  you  said  "  yes,"  that  it  was  Mr. 
Long.  Now  make  haste,  Peggy,  and  find  my  hair  with  the 
ringlets.  Yes,  it  was  only  a  report  that  he  was  dead, —  poor,  dear 
man  !  and  so  he  has  come  to  see  me  ;  oh,  if  I  had  only  known 
he  was  coming,  I  could  have  been  prepared.  Why,  Peggy, 
that's  the  rouge,  T  want  the  powder  first.'  1  then  went  to  her 
door,  and  knocked  loudly,  calling  impatiently  to  the  lady  to 
make  all  possible  haste,  as  I  was  dying  to  see  her.  '  Dear  me  ! ' 
exclaimed  she,  '  I'm  afraid,  Peggy,  he  has  one  of  those  bad  turns 
of  his,  by  the  noise  he  is  making,  and  perhaps  it  wouldn't  be 
proper  for  me  to  see  him.  How  did  he  look,  Peggy  ?'  Here 
the  door  was  opened,  and  seeing  Miss  Pyke  was  already  dressed, 
standing  before  the  mirror,  1  walked  in  and  seized  hold  of  her 
hand.  But  here  we  are  at  the  domicile  of  Robert  Barrow, 
Esq." 

Mrs.  Barrow  had  not  yet  risen,  but  the  housekeeper  inform- 
ed Anna  that  the  son  would  be  glad  to  see  her  at  any  time, 
"  For,"  continued  the  woman  with  a  pitiful  expression,  "  the 
poor  little  gentleman  wondered  why  3tou  never  brought  your 
father  to  see  him.  that  Mr.  Wentworth  might  know  who  was  to 
be  his  future  son-in-law." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Alfred,  bowing. 

"  And,"  continued  the  woman,  "  he  was  so  disapponted  the 
day  he  was  to  have  been  married,  that  he  cried  like  a  child, 
poor  fellow.  You  see,  Miss,  it's  great  pain  for  him  to  move, 
and  early  in  the   morning,  long  before  the  parson  came,  he  sat 


a  spinster's  story.  297 

himself  up  in  the  bed  to  be  ready  fbr  you  ;  and  there  lie  was 
thai  long  time,  perched  like  that,  while  the  minister  sat  with  his 
book  in  bis  hand,  read)-  to  begin,  yet  you  never  fame.  Poor 
fellow,  it  was  enough  to  make  one's  hear!  ache  to  hear  him  cry  ; 
and  besides,  you  never  came  to  see  him,  and  only  for  Miss,  Pyke 
we  shouldn't  have  heard  what  kept  you  away.  But  do  go  to 
him,  Miss,  he'll  lie  rejoiced  to  see  you  —  this  way,  please." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Allied.  "  but  1  must  enter  this  room, 
there's  something  hen;  belonging  to  me." 

Opening  the  door  he  passed  into  the  apartment  which  was  to 
have  been  Anna's  dressing-room,  and  going  up  to  the  chimney- 
piece  proceeded  to  take  down  his  mother's  portrait  which  still 
bung  there,  while  Anna  entered  the  bed-chamber  of  the  miser- 
able old  Barrow. 

It  was  early,  and  ho  had  not  been  prepared  for  visitors,  so 
that  a  more  disagreeable  and  odious  object  could  scarcely  be 
looked  upon. 

"  Oh,  Anna,  darling,"  exclaimed  the  poor  little  man  as  his 
eyes  fell  upon  her,  "  come  close  to  me,  dearie,  I've  not  seen  you 
since  Alfred  died  ;  I  dare  say  you  grieve  about  him,  and  so  did 
I  a  little,  when  Sally  Pyke  called  one  day  and  told  me,  but 
Anna,  dear,  as  he  is  dead  we  can  live  very  happily,  for  you  know 
be  never  liked  me,  so  it  was  all  for  the  best,  that  lie  should  die." 

"  Yes,"  said  Alfred,  entering  the  room,  "  but  you  see,  sir.  [ 
came  to  life  again  ;  here,"  handing  a  little  box  to  him,  "  are  the 
trinkets  you  bestowed  upon  my  sister,  perhaps  you  may  find 
them  useful  for  some  one  else.  Anna  and  I  are  going  with  our 
father  to  Europe,  and  you  will  never,  no  never,  see  us  again  ; 
good  by,  sir."  And  taking  Anna  by  the  hand  he  led  her  down 
stairs  and  out  of  the  house,  carefully  bearing  the  cherished  relict 
of  their  mother. 

"'  Oh,"  said  Anna  as  they  wound  their  way  homeward,  "  if  I 
could  but  realize  that  I  am  about  to  see  the  Lydia  I  love  so 
much  !  Yet  it  does  not  seem  possible  ;  I  thought  we  had  parted 
never  to  meet  again  in  this  world,  and  just  think  of  it,  in  less 
than  three  weeks,  if  nothing  happens,  we  shall  see  that  lovely 
face  :  and  sweet  Lydia,  you  are  as  goud  as  you  are  beautiful  !  " 
,    "  She  is  almost  my  age  ;  "  observed  Alfred,  thoughtfully. 

"  And  what  is  more,  you  are  heir  of  La  Belle.  But  what  am 
I  saying  ?  Lydia  care  for  wealth  ?  No  !  Let  her  love  any  one, 
and  it  will  matter  not  what  their  station  in  life  may  be  ;  Lydia's 
ambition  is  not  for  the  envy,  but  the  love  of  her  fellow  men." 

"But  my  dear  Anna,  do  you  suppose  Lydia  Villiers  could  be 
60  long  in  Prussia  without  captivating  any  one  ?  There  must 
13* 


298  a  bpinsteb's  story. 

be  little  chance  for  mo  by  Hub  time,  besides  ili'l  not  Mr.  Everett 
leave  soon  after,  and  follow  them  1  A.nd  if  We  had  wooed  this 
long  time  in  vain,  would  lie  not  have  been  discouraged  and  re- 
turned ': " 

Anna  made  no  answer;  they  were  now  at  the  door  of  the 
gloomy-looking  dwelling  where  they  had  passed  so  many  years 
of  painful  monotony,  and  upon  entering,  Anna  found  a  gentle- 
man waiting  to  see  her. 

"  Miss  Wentworth,"  said  the  stranger,  "  I  believe  I  have 
met  you  before  ;  at  all  events,  my  name  is  familiar  to  you,  for 
you  had  a  cousin  of  mine  residing  with  you  sometime,  Mr.  Her- 
bert Everett,  from  Boston.  But  my  reason  for  troubling  you 
this  morning  was,  that  as  I  have  undertaken  to  keep  in  order 
the  parish  books  for  the  poor,  and  cannot  clearly  understand  who 
arc  the  life-members,  I  thought  as  I  was  a  novice  at  the  work, 
you  could  assist  me,  for  I  know  you  kept  them  well  arranged 
for  a  considerable  time.  Oh,  I  see  how  you  manage,"  con- 
tinued lie  after  Anna  had  rendered  him  all  the  necessary  assist- 
ance, '■  ah,  I  was  i:i  too  great  a  hurry,  I  know  I've  very  little 
patience  ;  I  suppose  my  cousin  was  exceedingly  precise  in  all 
such  matters?  " 

"  I  believe  Mr.  Everett  was  very  exact,  and  took  great  in- 
terest in  all  business  of  the  kind  ;  in  fact,  he  was  quite  indefat- 
igable in  his  efforts  among  the  poor ;  I  know  many  miss  him 
very  much.'1 

"  But  they  will  have  him  back  again,  for  he  writes  of  return- 
ing in  two  or  three  months." 

"  You  have  heard  from  him  lately,  then  ?  " 

"  His  last  letter  informed  me  that  he  intended  making  a  tour 
through  Europe,  then  returning  to  Philadelphia  with  his  bride." 

"  Oh,  he  is  to  be  married  !     To  whom,  please?  " 

"  Why.  1  thought  you  were  intimate  with  the  young  lady, —  is 
not  Miss  Villiers  from  here  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  we  correspond,  but  I've  not  heard  from  her 
very  recently  ;  I  expect  a  letter  every  day." 

'•  Well,  he  has  not  told  me  her  name,  still  I  knew,  after  she 
left,  he  followed  with  the  intention  of  pressing  his  suit,  although 
he  acknowledged  to  me  that  he  could  scarcely  hope  it  would  be 
successful  ;  however  it  has  terminated  in  his  favor,  and  I  should 
probably  have  receive  I  the  wedding  cards,  but  you  know  the 
steamer  which  was  lost  carried  the  mail,  and  most  likely  that 
is  the  reason  you  have  received  no  letter." 

Anna   could  scarcely   pay   any  attention   to   the  rest  of  his 


a  spinster's  stoky.  299 

words,  and  she  was  glad  when  ho  was  gone.  The  great  hope 
she  had  entertained  of  having  again  the  society  of  Lydia  was 
now  crushed  ;  and  that  beloved  girl  would  undoubtedly  have 
left  Berlin  before  they  could  reach  it. 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  she  bursting  into  tears,  "surely  I  possess 

'  A  soul  inured  to  pain, 
To  hardship,  grief,  and  loss.'  " 

"  Why,  Anna,"  said  Alfred  entering  the  room,  "  I  thought 
your  tears  had  all  been  shed  Long  ago." 

Anna  told  him  the  sad  tidings,  and  his  face  was  the  expres- 
sion of  disappointment  and  sorrow  ;  but  it  soon  passed  away,  or 
else  it  was  to  dissipate  the  melancholy  that  hung  over  his  sister, 
that  he  changed  the  subject,  and  began, — 

"  Anna,  my  prison  life,  dreadful  as  it  seemed  to  me,  did  me 
no  harm,  for  I  have  better  thoughts  and  intentions  than  I  had 
before.  Now  I  want  to  tell  you  of  what  I  have  been  thinking. 
You  know  we  should  return  good  for  evil,  and  the  old  lady  and 
Susan  arc  now  very  poor  ;  Susan  is  strong  and  must  exert  her- 
self, but  the  poor  old  lady  is  very  feeble  and  indigent ;  so  let 
us  leave  the  same  sum  for  her  support  as  we  do  for  that  old 
gentleman,  Mr.  Hunt.  But  come,  we  will  arrange  the  rest 
after  dinner." 

It  was  the  fifteenth  of  April,  the  morning  of  the  final  depart- 
ure. Among  the  early  visitors  who  came  to  say  'good-by  '  was 
her  ladyship,  Miss  Pyke,  and,  as  was  sometimes  the  case  when 
she  had  made  any  unusual  effort  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing, she  came  accompanied  by  a  severe  fit  of  hysterics  which,  to 
the  extreme  annoyance  of  all  parties,  prolonged  her  stay  for  a 
considerable  time. 

As  Anna  was  using  every  endeavor  to  restore  the  lady  to  a 
consciousness  of  her  conspicuous  situation  in  the  midst  of  so 
many  strangers  who  looked  with  more  contempt  than  pity  upon 
the  singular  woman,  a  hand  was  placed  upon  her  shoulder,  and 
a  familiar  voice  said,  "  Now  Anna,  you  must  spare  me  a  few 
moments,  because  it's  for  the  last  time." 

"  Oh,  Kate,  I'm  very  glad  you  have  come,  we  should  have 
been  sorry  to  have  left  Philadelphia  without  seeing  you  ;  for 
my  acquaintances  have  been  very  few  and  far  between,  and  you 
have  often  dispelled  the  ennui  that  would  hover  round  me." 

"  Well,  do   leave  this  despicable  Sally  Pyke  to  herself,  and 


300  a  spinster's  story. 

come  aside  for  awhile.  Anna,  what  a  prospect  you  have  before 
Vim,  how  delighted  you  must  be,  and  ye(  you  don't  Beem  to  en- 
joy it  as  I  should  ;  but  then, as  Alfredsays,  you  are  disappoint- 
ibout  Lydia.  For  my  part  I'm  very  sorry  for  her,  I  know 
.she  can't  be  happy  herself,  and  seeing  his  reverence  so,  can 
scarcely  be  an  agreeable  compensation  for  taking  pity  upon  the 
being,  whose  ardent  love  she  had  no  inclination  to  requite. 
Well,  I  might  respect  any  one  for  such  /.  sal  as  his,  hut  as  to  its 
amounting  to  anything  more,  gracious  !  Now,  Anna,  if  ever 
you  hear  of  Kate  being  married,  you  may  be  assured  it  is  to 
some  one  just  suited  to  her  taste,  with  everything  she  could  wish 
for  to  make  her  happy;  and  you  know,  Anna,  that  besides 
wealth,  a  fine,  handsome  exterior  is  indispensable  before  I  could 
be  willing  to  enter  that  holy  estate,  so  you  will  be  able  to  imag- 
ine the  gentleman's  appearance,  whoever  he  may  be." 

"Miss  Dangers,"  said  Alfred's  voice  behind  them,  "you 
must  excuse  Anna  now,  for  the  steamer  leaves  at  twelve."' 

A  hasty  good-by  was  spoken,  and  most  of  the  friends  took 
their  departure,  among  whom,  to  the  relief  of  all,  was  Miss 
Tyke. 

"  Come  Anna,"  added  Alfred,  "  they  are  in  the  drawing-room, 
let  us  despatch  that  little  business  at  once." 

They  entered  the  room.  Mrs.  Gilbert  was  shedding  tears, 
while  Susan  appeared  in  one  of  those  moods  when  she  was 
vexed  with  herself  and  every  one  else,  and  with  her  elbows 
upon  the  table,  sat  in  sullen  silence  looking  upon  the  floor. 

With  few  words,  Alfred  gave  Mrs.  Gilbert  the  papers  which 
entitled  her  to  the  annuity  for  life,  then  handed  a  box  to  Susan, 
which  she  found  to  contain  a  handsomely  hound  Bible,  upon 
whose  fly-leaf  was  written  "  Live  peaceably  with  all  men." 

Anna  placed  before  the  old  lady  several  little  articles  she 
had  long  needed,  and  turning  to  Susan,  put  a  purse  containing 
four  fifty  dollar  notes  into  her  hand.  Susan  arose,  and  as  she 
clasped  the  band  that  offered  the  gift,  and  said  "  good-by,"  for 
the  first  time,  to  Anna's  knowledge,  the  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

There  is  in  every  human  heart, 
Some  nut  completely  barren  part." 

Alfred  ascended  to  the  little  room  in  the  attic,  which  for  so 
long  had  been  the  only  possession  he  could  call  his  own.  and 
kneeling  down  beside  the  little  bed  where  his  limbs  had  so 
often  rested,  he  offered  up  a  thanksgiving  for  the  Providence 
that  had  watched  over  the  lonely  orphans  in  their  hours  of  un- 


a  spixster's  story.  301 

protected  infancy,  and  through  the  greater  trials  and  tempta- 
tions of  early  youth.  Then  the  final  farewell  was  spoken,  and 
soon  after,  they  were  borne  rapidly  over  the  bounding  billows 
towards  the  shores  of  their  future  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"Oil !     There's  no  need  of  words  ; 
For  I  can  read  thy  soul  beneath  that  gaze, 
And  Bee  what  brought  thee  here  across  the  seas, 
Al  .in'  to  wander  on  a  foreign  strand: 
And  need  I  ask  if  still  tho  well  ? 

Ah  no  !  my  life's  devotion  shall  reward 
And  prove  to  thoe  how  well  1  know  thy  worth, 

Ilriv  is  thy  Idol—  take  her   to  thyself,' 

And  should  life  last,  Ion;,'  years  cf  wedded  love 
Shall  show  to  thee  thou  hast  not  sought  in  vain  !  " 

Much  that  was  mysterious  hung  over  the  lovely  Beatrice, 
ami  most  anxiously  did  Lydia  await  her  recovery,  that  she 
might  learn  the  true  connection  between  her  and  the  baron  de 
Korsa,  and  satisfy  the  mind  of  the  unhappy  Estelle. 

For  some  time  the  invalid  lingered  without  evincing  any  sign 
of  recovery,  while  her  life  was  despaired  of;  still  her  mind  re- 
mained perfectly  sound,  and  at  last,  to  the  great  delight  of  her 
friends,  her  strength  began  to  return,  so  that  although  she 
could  not  as  yet  leave  that  suite  of  apartments,  she  could  move 
from  one  room  to  another. 

"  Oh  Lydia,"  exclaimed  Carlotta  one  morning,  as  she  rushed 
into  her  sister's  room,  "  I've  something  extraordinary  to  tell 
you.  1  was  assisting  Beatrice  in  arranging  the  things  in  her 
wardrobe,  when  she  bade  me  empty  one  of  her  trunks;  in  do- 
ing so  1  found  the  necklace  poor  papa  gave  you,  and  which  you 
unfortunately  lost  a  long  time  ago." 

"  Lottie,  it  cannot  be  ;  it  resembles  mine,  perhaps,  but  can- 
not be  the  same, —  that's  impossible." 

"  Well  come  and  see  for  yourself,  you  know  Beatrice  has 
nothing  she  would  keep  secret  from  you  " 

Carlotta  led  the  way  to  the  room,  and  behold  !  there  at  the 
bottom  of  t'ae  chest  lay  the  necklace  she  had  lost  at  the  semina- 
ry of  Madame  de  Florigni ;  there  could  be  no  mistake,  for  it 
was  a  collection  of  precious  stones,  and  most  probably  such  an- 
other could  not  be  found  ;  besides,  there  in  the  clasp  was  her 
mother's  likeness  But  what  was  more  singular,  attached  to 
the  necklace  was  the   toy  of  an   infant ;  and  as  they   looked 


302  a  spinster's  story. 

again  into  the   trunk  they  saw  several  little  articles  of  a  baby's 
clothing. 

"  Bow  Btrange  !  "What  could  Beatrice  have  wanted  with 
these  '!  " 

They  entered  the  next  room  where  the  invalid  had  been  Bit- 
ting, thai  they  might,  if  she  appeared  strong  enough  to  con- 
verse,  inquire  of  her  concerning  the  singular  discovery.  But 
they  found  Beatrice  had  fallen  asleep.  Lydia  bent  over  the 
form  that  was  so  wasted  by  sickness  and  suffering,  and  thought 
of  the  contrast  between  the  emaciated  girl  now  prostrate  be- 
fore her,  and  the  beautiful  Beatrice  of  the  "  Wing  of  the  West." 
The  luxuriant  hair  had  been  shaven  off  to  relieve  the  head, 
and  the  tiny  ringlets  that  clustered  round  the  pale  face  gave 
her  an  altered  appearance  ;  still,  when  she  smiled,  there  were 
the  same  dimpled  checks,  and  to  those  who  knew  her,  she  was 
the  same  Beatrice  as  ever. 

"Lydia,"  whispered  Carlotta,  "  Estelle  is  waiting  to  see 
you." 

Upon  descending,  she  found  Estelle  paler  and  more  languid 
than  usual,  but  she  arose  as  her  friend  entered,  and  with  the 
inspiriting  vivacity  that  characterized  her;  said,  as  she  folded 
Lydia  in  a  fond  embrace,  "  Oh,  it  seems  an  age  since  I  saw 
you,  and  I  begin  to  be  so  jealous  of  your  attentions  to  this  new 
inmate,  that  nothing  would  satisfy  me  but  coming  here  to  take 
up  my  abode  for  a  few  weeks.  Sou  look  surprised.  Well,  the 
tmth  is  this.  Our  house  is  undergoing  repairs,  and  as  pa  con- 
templates a  wedding  shortly,  he  wishes  to  begin  at  once  — " 
"  Why,  Estelle,  who  is  to  be  married?  not  you." 
"  Oh,  Clarence  has  returned  — but  how  is  Mile.  Sauvestre  ? 
I  believe  she  is  always  called  by  that  name." 

"  Yes ;  well,  she  is  not  allowed  to  converse  but  very  little  at 
present,  so  that  we  still  remain  ignorant  of  her  past  history, 
though  she  will  soon  be  able  to  tell  us  all  if  she  continues  to 
progress  as  rapidly  as  now." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so,  for  you  cannot  imagine  how  much  I  feel  in- 
terested in  her,  although  I'm  not  acquainted  with  the  young 
lady  ;  but  Lyddie,"  continued  Estelle,  as  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  "  if  she  is  dear  to  Oscar,  that  is  sufficient  reason;  you 
might  imagine  I  should  look  upon  her  as  a  rival,  but  no,  I  love 
her  more  than  1  can  describe  to  you,  and  I  long  to  see  her  to 
tell  her  so.  And  I  would  I  could  remove  all  obstacles  to  their 
happiness,  for  I  know  she  must  be  worthy  of  him,  and  I  am  not. 
I  was  passionate,  and  would  not  listen  to  reason,  but  I  have 
suffered  for  it  since.     Ob,  it  troubles  me  not  to  know  why  he  is 


a  spinster's  story.  303 

not  with  her,  what  ran  the  mystery  be  ?  My  great  desire  is 
that  they  may  be  happy,  and  should  this  lovely  Beatrice  die,  no 
dear  friend,  not  even  Oscar,  would  grieve  more  than  the  un- 
fortunate Estelle." 

Alone  !  Tt  was  seldom  if  ever  that  Lydi.a  repaired  to  the 
solitude  of  her  room  to  brood  over  what  could  not  be  altered. 
But  after  the  communication  of  Estelle,  she  found  it  impossible 

to  conceal  the  effict  it  had  wrought  upon  her,  for  although  it 
was  her  custom  to  seek  some  active  occupation  whenever  such 
troublous  thoughts  occurred  to  her,  it  was  useless  now  to  en- 
deavor to  control  them. 

Clarence  was  returned  ;  a  wedding  was  expected  at  their 
house  and  it  was  not  Estelle's.  Lydia  had  believed  she  had  giv- 
en up  Clarence  long  ago,  yet  now  that  sin;  was  forced  to  realize 
that  all  thought  of  him  must  be  abandoned,  she  found  herself 
entirely  unprepared  to  bear  it,  and  for  awhile  she  yielded  her- 
self to  the  tears  that  would  gain  the  mastery. 

i[  An  I  to  whom  can  I  unbosom  this  suffering?  I  could  not 
go  to  my  fond  mother,  to  distress  her  with  the  tale  of  my  mis- 
ery;  the  favorite  Beatrice,  that  sympathizing  friend,  may  soon 
die,  and  I  could  not  tell  Estelle.  To  whom  then  can  I  go  '(  Oh, 
.  there  is  no  one.  I  must  keep  all  locked  within  the  secret  re- 
cesses of  the  aching  heart,  while  I  go  forth  with  the  merriest  of 
the  throng,  passing  from  scene  to  scene,  acting  the  false  part  of 
the  gay  and  light-hearted." 

There  was  Carlotta's  gentle  tap  at  her  door. 
"  Co.ne  in,  Lottie.      Oh,  don't  look  so  surprised,  there's  noth- 
ing the  matter  with   me,  but  I  was  rather  faint ;  I  shall   soon 
be  better.      What  did  you  want,  dear?  " 

"  Why  Ly  Idie,  see,  here  are  two  letters  for  you,  one  is  of  an 
old  date,  and  has  by  some  mistake  been  lying  at  the  post-office; 
look,  they're  both  from  Anna." 

Lydia  opened  the  first,  and  the  mode  of  address  startled  her. 
But  Anna  was  brief  and  explicit  in  giving  the  fact  of  their  re- 
lationship, and  although  every  line  was  a  testimony  of  the  love 
an  1  devotion  the  simple,  unsophisticated  little  recluse  exercised 
towards  her  cousin  Lydia.  still  the  whole  depicted  the  pure 
gratitude  she  should  ever  feel  for  the  friendship  the  Villiers 
family  had  so  freely  offered,  when  she  was  the  stranger  and 
i1!  ■  unknown.  But  the  latter  sheet  bore  the  sorrowing  of  the 
mourner  forth'  los  Alfred,  whom  she  still  deeply  regretted. 
But  there  was  a  second  letter,  and  how  astonishing  were  the 
contents.  Alfred  was  living,  and  they  were  soou  'o  take  their 
departure  for  Europe. 


304  A    BPINSTEIi's    STORY. 

The     v    ' .  •    -  letter  brought    toars  to  the 

'  i  j  prospect  of  soon  w  -i- 
i  •  'i  '.v!v  discos  igratulate  Alfre  1  .-is 

heir  of  Lj  Bille.  "  An. I  Anna  will  be  here,"  thought  Lydia, 
i  !  ab  iii  ii.'1  m  i  in  w  iom  I  can  confiJe." 
"D;ir  Lyddie.  I  know  you  have  company  in  the  drawing- 
room  this  evening,"  said  15  satrice,  as  she  to  >k  a  n  >a  sgay  Ly  lia 
had  been  arranging,  "  now  I  cannot  let  you  remain  here  a  pris- 
oner on  my  account.  Do  please  leave  me,  dearie,  I  shall  not 
feel  lonely,  indeed  I  am  much  better,  and  hope  soon  to  leave 
my  seclusion,  still,  love,  I  would  have  you  stay  no  longer;   do 

g  '  ■  " 

"  1>  it  truly  it's  only  E, telle  that  you  heir,  an  1  we  don't  ex- 
pect any  one  this  evening,  besides  it  would  grieve  Estell  i  to 
think  an  invalid  were  left  to  herself ;  however,  as  you  urge  it 
so,  I'll  remain  down  si  urs  for  an  hour,  and  then  come  to  read 
awhile  to  our  beloved   Beatrice." 

Lydia  des  sen  1  •  1  to  the  drawing-room,  and  had  not  been  long 
there  when  Mr.  Everett  was  announ 

He  entered  ;  with  his  usual  warmth  he  took  the  hand  of 
Lydia  and  expresse  I  his  d  'light  at  meeting  her  once  again,  af- 
ter a  longer  abse  ice  th  in  usual.  He  was  cheerful,  an  I  told  of 
his  travels,  entertaining  them  with  the  accounts  of  the  inconve- 
nience and  contrivance  attendant  upon  tourists  at  that  season  ef 
tiie  year  ;  hut  as  Lydia  looked  up  m  him,  she  could  see  all  this 
was  a.i  effjrfc  to  the  minister,  and  t'.iat  he  was  thinner,  paler, 
more  care-worn  an  I  dej  scte  1  than  ever  before. 

"  iTou  choose  an  unpleasant  season  for  such  travels,  sir,"' 
rem  irke  I  Estelle,  "  and  also  a  dangerous  one  for  visiting  those 
mountain  passes  " 

"True,"  was  the  calm  rejoinder,  accompanied  by  a  faint 
smile,  "  hut  often  in  the  impulse  of  the  moment  all  hazard  is 
forgotten,  howsoever  great  it  might  appear  looked  upon  with 
cool  consideration." 

"  Impulse,''  thought  Lydia,  what  impulse  could  have  driven 
him  to  the  mountains,  those  cold,  wet,  solitary  regions  !  "  She 
con  inued  to  sit  buried  in  her  thoughts,  and  for  awhile  was  en- 
tirely lost,  to  the  presence  of  the  speakers  until  the  following 
remark  from  Estelle  fully  aroused  her. 

"  1  think,  sir.  you  must  have  ohosen  such  retirement,  to  leave 
your  ennui  upon  those  clou  l-capped  towers." 

■•  i  might  perhaps  have  suffered  from  ennui,"  returned  the 
cl  irgyman,  "  or  more  likely  fancied  so,"  and  immediately  the 
smile   was  gone,  in   silence   his  eyes  dropped  to  the  floor,  and 


A  spinster's  story.  305 

Lydia  felt  assured  to  converse  lightly  and  with  any  show  of 
gaiety   was   irksome  to  him  ;  she  accordingly  ran  to  her  room, 

and  fetched  Anna's  letters,  to  read  them  to  the  astonished  au- 
ditor. 

"  What !  "  said  he,  as  he  arose  in  his  profound  amazement, 
"  and  are  they  indeed  coming  here  to  take  up  a  permanent 
abode  in  Prussia,  and  Anna  with  them?  How  strange!" 
Then  rising  to  go  added,  "  Well,  no  one  will  congratulate  Al- 
fred more  sincerely  than  his  old  friend  Herbert  Everett." 

The  door  was  thrown  open,  and  there,  with  a  flushed  cheek, 
and  one  hand  extended  towards  them,  while  the  other  caught 
up  the  robe  that  was  thrown  around  her.  stood  Beatrice  in  all 
the  beauty  of  her  dishevelled  charms.  She  entered  the  room, 
and  gazed  around  her;  there  could  be  no  suspicion  as  to  the 
state  of  her  mind,  sound  reason  was  clearly  depicted  in  every 
glance  of  those  full,  dark  eyes,  as  she  looked  from  Estelle  to  Ly- 
dia, as  if  in  search  of  something.  The  open  door  hid  Mr.  Ev- 
erett from  her,  for  he  was  behind  it,  but -lie  could  have  a  perfect 
view  of  one  side  of  the  figure  before  them.  She  moved  into 
the  middle  of  the  room,  where  the  terrified  E>telle  held  back 
Lydia,  and  running  from  one  part  to  another  cried  as  if  in  all  the 
agony  of  despair,  "  Has  he  gone '(  Where  is  he  ?  I  must 
speak  to  him  —  let  me  see  him  !  I  know  it  was  he  —  I  heard 
the  voice,  oh  Herbert,  come  to  me  —  let  me  see  you  once  again, 
and  know  you  forgive,  I  ask  no  more.  Oh  Herbert,  where  are 
you?  "  She  attempted  to  move  toward  the  further  end  of  the 
room,  but  her  feeble  strength  was  exhausted,  and  bursting 
into  tears,  she  turned  again  to  the  door,  when  the  clergyman 
caught  a  full  view  of  the  face,  and  as  she  was  about  to  fall  was 
instantly  at  her  side  clasping  the  fainting  girl  in  his  arms,  as 
be  exclaimed,  "  Why,  Beatrice,  beloved  one,  can  it  be  you  ? 
Oh  [  have  sought  you  everywhere,  and  in  sorrow  and  wretch- 
edness despaired  of  ever  seeing  tint  sweet  face  again.  But 
how  changed  !  still  it  is  Beatrice.  I  have  found  my  idol  ! 
Father,  I  thank  Thee  ;  Thy  will  be  done  !  " 

He   pressed  the  lost  treasure  to  his  bosom,  and  wept  over  it. 

Then  refusing  all  assistance,  administered  every  restorative 
himself,  and  in  an  ecstacy  of  delight  saw  Beatrice  was  soon  re- 
turning to  consciousness.  She  endeavored  to  rise,  and  in  look- 
in;-  roun  1  the  room  as  though  in  quest  of  some  one,  her  eaze 
fell  upon  the  minister.  For  a  moment  she  looked  into  the  face, 
then  a  perfect  recollection  returned,  and  placing  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  said, — 

"  Herbert,  I  was  a  petted,  wayward  child,  and  although  I  no 


5506  a  spixstek's  story. 

sooner  knew  you  than  I  felt  your  influence  over  me,  yet  my 
pride  would  Dot  let  me  acknowledge  it ;  still  your  endeavors  to 
make  me  a  Christian  were  not  lost  upon  me,  and  though,  when 
you  took  your  Leave  of  Boston,  I  was  cold  and  indifferent,  an- 
other word  from  you  might  have  thrown  me  prostrate  at  your 
feet.  But  Herbert,  were  you  not  impatient?  Because  you 
soon  loved  deeply,  yourself,  you  sought  to  find  in  me  as  speedy 
a  requital;  but  my  girlish  spirit  spurned  all  restraint,  and  your 
earnest  solicitations  annoyed  and  vexed  me  ;  then  you  gave 
yourself  over  to  disappointment,  and  hade  me  farewell.  Oh 
Herbert,  had  you  waited,  had  you  reasoned  with  mi;,  the  past 
would  not  have  been  such  a  tale  of  woe.  I  was  thoughtless,  in- 
experienced. I  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  need  a  friend, 
or  to  wish  for  some  one  to  love  me.  The  world  was  then  bright 
and  joyous  to  me,  and  ignorant  of  the  sorrow  and  sadness  with- 
in it,  I  laughed  when  told  of  evil  to  come.  I  was  not  aware 
with  what  affections  I  was  trifling,  and  I  know  I  was  often 
heedless  and  defiant ;  still,  when  I  heard  of  your  departure,  for 
whieh  I  was  wholly  unprepared,  I  seemed  to  awaken  as  if  from 
a  dream.  Reckless  as  [  appeared,  there  was  an  under  current 
of  better  feelings,  which,  had  you  been  less  impatient,  and  lin- 
gered until  the  sportive,  jestive  spirit  had  subsided  —  you 
might  have  discovered.  Oh,  you  little  imagined  how  wretched 
I  was  when  I  heard  you  were  gone;  for  I  did  not  know  till 
then  how  much  I  loved  you.  Yet  I  deserved  it,  I  had  trifled 
with  your  sincerity,  I  had  made  you  miserable,  but  oh,  how  I 
sulfered  for  it  afterwards  !  " 

"  Oh  Beatrice,  beloved  one,  say  no  more.  I  am  the  only  one 
to  blame.  Had  I  considered  your  youth,  had  T  studied  your  true 
nature  more  closely,  I  should  have  discovered  how  repulsive  to 
you  were  such  sentiments  as  mine,  when  I  constantly  wearied 
you  with  the  acknowledgement  of  my  love,  and  urged  you  to 
bind  to  me  that  free,  joyous  being,  without  leaving  you  time 
either  to  know  me  well,  or  to  learn  whom  you  preferred.  I 
was  impetuous,  I  was  rash,  to  solicit  your  affection.  To  conjure 
you  to  accept  me  because  1  was  passionately  fond  of  you,  was 
taking  advantage  of  your  early  years  ;  but  I  did  not  see  it  so 
then.  I  only  knew  you  were  essential  to  my  happiness,  and 
when  on  that  last  day  that  we  met,  I  heard  your  merry  laugh, 
and  saw  you  playfully  throw  aside  all  my  attempts  to  bid  you 
listen.  1  was  frenzied,  and  resolved  to  banish  myself  from  your 
sight  for  ever  I  hastened  to  Philadelphia,  and  in  a  state  of 
perfect  indifference,  accepted  the  first  living  that  offered.  Soon 
the    thought  of  having  the  charge  of  immortal   souls,  made  me 


a  spinster's  story.  307 

ook  into  my  own  heart,  and  as  I  thought  of  the  past.  T  saw  the 
error  into  which  I  ha  1  so  blindly  fallen  ;  I  thought  of  Beatrice, 
whose  image  I  so  fondly  cherished  was.  still  deeply  engrav- 
en upon  a  painful  memory  ;  and  then,  when  too  late,  I  could  re- 
call numerous  instances  where  her  kindness  and  sympathy  had 
been  extended  to  me,  and  saw  but  too  plainly  that,  had  I  been 
patient,  and  left  it  to  the  work  of  time,  my  own  beloved  one 
might  one  day  have  belonged  to  me.  But  hope  had  taken  her 
Might,  and  I  endeavored  to  erase  you  from  my  memory;  yet  vain 
was  the  attempt,  and  1  sought  by  more  earnest  labors  in  the 
ministry  to  relieve  the  troubled  mind  under  which  I  was  suffer- 
ing. This  was  certainly  much  comfort  to  me,  still  I  was  ill  at 
case,  and  sunk  deeper  and  deeper  into  despondency.  But  Be- 
atrice, I  heard  you  were  to  leave  America,  and  in  wild  desper- 
ation I  could  have  flown  to  behold  you  once  again  ;  I  felt  you 
were  gone,  and  shutting  mj'self  in  my  chamber  for  days,  I  poured 
out  my  grief  in  solitude.  Then  I  heard  of  the  wreck  of  your 
vessel.  I  believed  you  dead,  and  longed  to  follow  you  ;  but  by 
the  next  account,  some  were  saved,  and  without  learning  more,  I 
took  my  passage  for  Europe,  trusting  you  might  be  one  of  the 
rescued,  and  that  it  might  happen  I  could  offer  some  assistance 
to  you.  In  vain  I  sought  you,  no  tidings  of  you  anywhere, 
still  I  wandered  from  one  country  to  another,  and  one  day, 
while  chitling  a  young  lady  for  possessing  too  great  a  love  for 
the  opera,  I  pointed  to  the  bill  she  was  reading.  My  eye  fell 
upon  a  largely  printed  name.  What  was  my  astonishment, — -it 
was  the  name  of  my  lost  Beatrice  !  I  left  the  house  immediate- 
ly. That  morning  there  was  a  matinee  at  the  opera,  I  attended 
it.  Beatrice,  you  came,  and  I  knew  you.  In  one  scene  you 
looked  so  like  your  former  self,  that  my  self-possession  must 
have  entirely  forsaken  me,  for  I  know  I  arose  upon  the  seat, 
and  it  attracted  your  attention.  You  recognized  me,  but  what 
was  the  consequence  ?  Oh,  how  unhappy.  In  a  state  of  de- 
lirium you  were  carried  from  my  sight,  and  when  I  discovered 
your  residence,  I  could  not  be  allowed  to  see  you,  and  feared 
to  leave  my  name  lest  it  should  excite  you  ;  and  lastly,  I  heard 
you  had  left  that  house,  and  could  not  ascertain  where  you  were 
gone.  But  Beatrice,  beloved  one,  I  have  found  you,  and  can- 
not tear  myself  away.  Whatever  your  connections  may  be,  let 
me  be  near  you,  that  I  may  often  see  you.  It  may  be  that  you 
belong  to  another,  that  I  can  never  call  you  mine  ;  still,  do  not 
send  me  away  from  you  ;  although  I  may  never  call  you  by  my 
name,  let  me  stay  where  you  are,  to  watch  over  you,  and  be  a 
true  friend  to  all  connected  with  you  ;  and  although  it  be  from  a 


308  A    SriXSTERS    STORY. 

distance,  and  T  remain  in  obscurity,  let  me,  while  T  live,  watch 
over  you,  and   guard   your  interests.     More   than  this  I  do  not 

deserve,  and  will. not  ask." 

'•  Oh,  but  Herbert,  I  am  free  !  free  as  the  birds  of  the  air; 
I  belong  in  no  one  Imtto  you  who  have  the  greatest  right  to  me  ; 
and  did  you  know  all  —  could  I  tell  how  the  thoughts  of  you 
have  driven  me  to  madness  from  which  I  awakened  only  to 
hear  that  in  my  delirium  I  had  called  constantly  upon  your 
name  —  could  I  describe  the  temptations  that  have  Burrounded 
me  —  with  a  brain  bewildered,  and  a  mind  wandering,  urged 
to  the  forbidden  path  —  when  reason  was  gone,  and  I  no  long- 
er remembered  the  truth,  only  an  instinctive  idea  that  I  must 
preserve  my  body  and  soul  for  a  reunion  with  you,  kept  me 
from  yielding — if  I  could  picture  to  you  the  sufferings  of  the 
past,  then  you  would  realize  how  dear  you  are  to  me  ! " 

"  Beatrice,  beloved  one,  it  is  enough,  say  no  more  !  " 

The  days  glided  by,  and  the  dwelling  that  was  so  lately  ra- 
diated with  the  hope  of  the  favorite's  recovery,  was  now  the 
scene  of  lamentation  and  sorrow.  The  chamber  whose  bay 
windows  looked  toward  the  west,  was  more  darkly  shaded  than 
ever ;  the  servants  moved  noiselessly  from  room  to  room  as 
they  performed  in  sadness  the  duties  of  the  household,  while 
only  a  few  cherished  friends  were  admitted  within  that  apart- 
ment, to  mingle  their  tears  around  the  couch  where  lay  pros- 
trated the  lovely  Beatrice.  They  gazed  upon  that  sweet  face, 
they  pressed  their  lips  to  the  icy  brow,  but  the  eyes  remained 
closed,  and  the  death-like  countenance  reminded  them  that  the 
] lower  of  speech  had  already  departed  from  those  once  ruby 
lips 

Day  after  day,  and  night  after  night,  Herbert  Everett  kept 
vigil  at  the  couch  of  the  sufferer,  and  no  persuasion  could  force 
him  to  quit  her  side  for  an  instant,  while  he  watched  with  the 
most  intense  anxiety  every  evidence  of  a  change.  Was  Beat- 
rice for  life  or  for  death  './ 

It  was  the  eighth  of  April  ;  distant  bells  were  pealing  a  wel- 
come to  the  Easter  morn,  but  those  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Vil-^ 
Hers'  residence  remained  un lolled,  that  the  sound  might  not  dis- 
turb the  last  moments  of  Beatrice  Sauvestre.  In  the  library, 
the  sorrowing  household  were  gathered  to  engage  in  the  devo- 
tions of  the  morning,  when  every  heart  responded  to  the  prayer 
offered  up  by  the  widow,  that  the  beloved  Beatrice  might  be 
restored  to  them  in  health  and  happiness,  or  received  into  the 
mansions  of  the   blessed,  as  the  divine   will  deemed   most   expe- 


A    SriNSTISIl'S    STORY.  309 

client  In  the  still  chamber  above,  and  alone,  by  the  bed  of 
the  sufferer,  knell  the  young  minister.  I  ft;  had  thought  to  look 
upon  thai  face  for  the  last  time,  with  the  desire  thai  the  favor- 
ite might  be  spared  to  him  ;  but  the  longer  he  gazed  upon  those 
lovely  features,  the  more  dillicult  it  became  to  consent  to  give 
her  up,  and  that  his  petition  for  submission  to  the  will  of  the 
Almighty,  might  be  sincere  and  heart-felt,  he  had  turned  from 
his  idol,  to  banish  himself  from  her  countenance,  and  while  his 
hands  covered  his  face,  which  was  buried  in  the  coverlid,  his 
whole  frame  shook  with  the  fervency  of  his  prayer. 

He  arose  calmed  if  noY  comforted,  and  took  his  seat  at  a  lit- 
tle distance,  where  he  could  not  view  the  face  of  Beatrice. 
There  was  a  slight  movement  of  the  drapery  that  shaded  the 
light  from  the  bed,  he  was  instantly  upon  his  feet,  but  cheek- 
ing himself,  moved  slowly  towards  the  invalid.  For  the 
time  in  many  days  the  long,  dark  lashes  were  raised,  and  in  '■' .  • 
ecstacy  of  his  delight,  tear  followed  tear  as  he  saw  the  full  e;. 
open.  Bending  over  her  he  caught  the  whisper  of  his  name, 
and  it  was  evident  she  knew  him.  She  gazed  round  the  room 
for  a  moment,  then  laying  a  thin  white  hand  upon  his  arm,  dis- 
tinctly came  the  words,  "  Oh  Herbert,  I'm  so  glad  I  am  better 
—  I  know  you  are  so  weary  with  watching." 

"  Yes,  love,  you  are  better,  but  don't  try  to  talk,  but  take 
this  draught  and  then  rest  a<>;ain." 

The  crisis,  which  proved  favorable  for  Beatrice,  was  now  past, 
and  she  began  rapidly  to  amend,  so  that  she  could  move  from 
one  part  of  the  house  to  another,  or  drive  out  for  the  air.  Her 
health  and  spirits  were  speedily  returning,  and  by  the  end  of 
the  month  Beatrice  pronounced  herself  quite  recovered. 

It  was  a  delightful  evening  in  the  beginning  of  May  ;  upon 
a  sofa  wheeled  to  the  windows,  reclined  the  slender  figure  of 
the  favorite,  her  head  resting  upon  the  breast  of  the  minister, 
while  Carlotta,  with  an  apron  filled  with  hot-house  plants,  sat 
at  her  feet  arranging  the  flowers  to  decorate  the  rooms  of  the 
near  relations,  who  were  daily  expected,  and  who  had  been  in- 
vited by  the  widow  to  spend  the  summer  with  them. 

"  Lottie  dear,  please  tell  Lyddie  and  Estelle  to  come.  I  know 
you  are  all  anxious  to  hear  what  my  wanderings  have  been,  and 
now  that  I  am  perfectly  strong,  I  may  as  well  begin  to  tell ;  do 
make  them  come  directly,  they're  only  arranging  a  wreath  for 
me.     Tell  them  I  shall  not  wait,  but  begin." 

"  Did  yon  say  Estelle,  too  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  she's  one  of  my  best  friends,  and  it  may  be  my 
story  might  entertain  her." 


310  a  spinster's  story. 

Soon  after  the  widow,  followed  by  the  three  young  ladies,  en- 
tered the  room,  and  then  took  their  scats  round  the  sofa  to 
learn  the  following  truths  respecting  the  lost  favorite. 

Beatrice's  frien  Is  had  left  the*  deck,  and  she  stood  alone 
brooding  over  her  sad  fate,  when  a  person  who  wore  the  air  of 
a  gentleman  approached  her,  and  inquired,  "  Are  you  not  wait- 
ing for  some  one,  madam  ?  " 

"  Oh,  please  tell  me  —  have  you  heard  any  one  inquire  for 
a  lady?  "  said  Beatrice,  eagerly,  without  waiting  to  reply. 

"  Are  you  alone,  pray  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  quite  alone.     Will  it  answer  the  inquiry  ?  " 

"  Exactly,  ma'am,  please.      Come  with  me." 

"  But  who  is  it,  and  have  we  far  to  go  ?  " 

"  Only  to  descend  from  the  vessel  to  that  group  upon  the 
dock,  there  you  will  meet  a  gentleman  and  lady  who  must  be 
inquiring  for  you." 

Beatrice  immediately  left  the  vessel,  and  followed  her  guido 
to  the  group  to  which  he  had  pointed.  But  no  such  persons 
were  to  be  found.  He  then  urged  her  to  accompany  him  to 
a  hotel  not  far  distant,  where  he  assured  her,  the  inquirers  must 
have  proceeded.  Bewildered  by  the  noise  and  bustle  around 
her  she  gazed  in  perplexity  from  one  to  another,  who,  in  their 
haste  or  indifference  pushed  rudely  by  ;  with  much  hesitation 
she  took  the  proffered  arm  of  her  guide,  and  followed  him 
through  several  crowded  streets  until  they  reached  the  hotel ; 
but  no  success  awaited  them,  and  Beatrice  begged  to  be  con- 
ducted back  to  the  vessel. 

"  But  there  is  a  house  not  far  from  here,"  said  her  compan- 
ion "  which  many  frequent  in  preference  to  the  hotel.  Let  us 
not  be  discouraged  until  we  have  inquired  there." 

She  accompanied  him  thither,  and  then  to  two  other  houses  he 
named,  but  heard  nothing  satisfactory  ;  becoming  alarmed  at 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,. she  turned  to  leave  the  last  they  had 
entered,  and  entreated  more  earnestly  than  before  to  be  taken 
back  to  her  friends  on  the  vessel.  This  the  man  refused  to  do 
uidess  she  first  gave  him  three  thalers,  which  he  demanded  as 
his  fee.  in  vain  Beatrice  assured  him  that  she  was  one  of 
those  rescued  from  the  wreck,  and  had  not  so  much  as  a  single 
coin  in  her  possession  ;  this  he  seemed  to  receive  as  a  false 
statement,  and  finding  she  continued  to  assert  the  same,  grew 
angry,  and  resorted  to  harsh  language  ;  there  was  no  one  in  the 
room  where  they  stool,  and  the  doors  that  led  from  it  were 
closed  ;   becoming  terrified  at  his  loud,  violent   tone,  she  rushed 


a  Spinster's  story.  311 

to  a  door,  and  throwing  it  open,  found  that  instead  of  opening 
into  tho  street,  it  disclosed  another  apartment  where  several 
gentlemen  were  scato  1  round  a  card  table.  She  was  about  to 
retreat,  but  finding  the  insolent  fellow  close  behind  her  she  ex- 
claim !  I  in  an  ag  tny  of  despair,  *'  Oh,  will  not  some  one  send 
this  man  away  from  me  !  " 

Every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  bewildered  girl;  but  Beatrice 
had  spoken  in  German,  with  which  she  was  but  little  acquainted, 
ami  was  most  probably  but  imperfectly  understood,  for  with  a 
jest  and  a  jeer  upon  her  excited  air,  most  of  them  again  turned 
to  something  that  occupied  them  upon  the  table,  ami  the  door 
closed.  Upon  looking  round  she  found  her  persecutor  had  fled, 
and  that  she  was  left  alone  in  the  room.  Going  up  to  the  win- 
dow, she  saw  the  street  was  crowded  with  the  busy  throngs  that 
seem  id  pressing  ever  onward,  and  as  she  looked  for  a  kind,  be- 
nevolent face,  that  she  might  inquire  her  way  back  to  the  ves- 
sel, she  could  see  none  that  did  not  appear  to  her  repulsive. 
The  shades  of  night  began  to  fall,  and  the  darkness  was  fast 
gathering  around  her;  still,  no  one  entered  the  apartment,  and 
in  the  same  unbroken  silence,  the  lonely  girl  stootl  reflecting 
upon  her  forlorn  situation.  Suddenly  there  was  a  noise  in  the 
nest  room,  as  of  tables  and  chairs  in  commotion,  and  heavy 
footsteps  moved  over  the  floor ;  then  "good-night"  was  said, 
and  soon  it  appeared  that  the  party  had  dispersed,  for  all  was 
quiet  again. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  !  "  murmured  Beatrice,  as  she  still 
peered  into  the  darkness  without 

"  Madam,  can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  said  a  kindly  voice 
besi  le  her. 

On  looking  round,  she  saw  before  her  the  tall  figure  of  a  man, 
who  was  gazing  earnestly  upon  her  ;  from  the  position  in  winch 
she  stood,  although  he  had  a  full  view  of  her,  as  a  lamp  in  the 
street  threw  its  light  upon  her,  still  she  could  not  well  discern 
the  face  of  the  speaker,  and  half  timidly,  half  indifferently,  she 
turned    from    him,  and  said  with  a  sigh,   "  No,  thank  you,  sir." 

"  Do  tell  me,"  said  the  stranger,  bending  towards  her, 
"  whether  I  can  assist  you  in  any  way  whatever  ;  sunn  these 
rooms  will  1>.'  crow  led,  and  will  be  no  place  for  a  lady,  especial- 
ly when  she  is  alone." 

Upon  hearing  this,  Beatrice  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  what  shall  I 
do  !  it  is  now  dark,  and  I  can  never  find  my  way  back  to  my' 
friends." 

"  But  can  I  not  accompany  you  and  assist  in  finding  them  ?  " 

The  tones  in  which  these  wor  Is  were  spoken,  found  their  way 


31*2  a  spinster's  story. 

to  the  heart  of  the  bewildered  girl,  and  turning  to  him  .she  told 

him  how  she  bad  t!  ly  left  her  friends  upon  a  vessel  in 

the  dock,  and  accompanied  a  man  in  quest  of  a  relation,  whom 
she  had  n  led  in  finding,  that  her  guide  bad  refused  to 

take  her  hack  without  first  receiving  his  fee,  and  that  she  had 
no  money  in  her  possession. 

"Oh  well,  if  that  is  all,"  replied  the  stranger  cheeringly, 
'•  don't  despair.     Wait  here,  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

He  soon  returned,  saying,  "  Here's  the  carriage,  Madam,  now, 
if  you  please,  we  can  soon  drive  to  the  dock." 

She  was  assisted  into  the  carriage;  her  companion  took  his 
seat  opposite  to  her,  and  they  drove  off.  Once  he  spoke,  but 
the  noise,  as  they  rattled  rapidly  over  the  stones,  prevented  her 
hearing  him,  and  heaving  a  sigh  she  threw  herself  back  to 
await  with  patience  their  arrival  at  their  destination.  At  last 
the  driver  stopped,  and  they  alighted. 

A  faint  cry  of  disappointment  escaped  Beatrice,  as  she  looked 
round  and  saw  the  place  bore  no  resemblance  to  the  dock  she 
had  left  that  morning.  "This  way,"  said  her  companion,  as 
he  drew  her  arm  in  his  own.  The  night  had  now  set  in.  and 
was  very  dark,  but  as  they  moved  away  from  the  lamps  of  the 
carriage,  she  could  discern  the  masts  of  vessels,  and  found  they 
were  really  upon  the  dock,  only  it  was  now  silent  and  deserted, 
while  the  large,  heavy  rats  ran  in  rapid  succession  over  their 
feet.  With  difficulty  they  made  their  way  over  the  planks,  to 
where  the  vessel  lay,  when  a  watchman  accosted  them,  and  gave 
the  painful  information  that  every  one  had  left  the  "  Wing  of 
the  West,"  and  not  even  a  sailor  remained. 

"  Oh,  they  are  gone  !"  cried  Beatrice,  "  what  am  I  to  do  !  " 

"  Why,  certainly  you  cannot  stay  on  board  the  vessel,"  said 
her  escort,  "  you  had  better  come  to  a  hotel, '  and  search  for 
your  friends  in  the  morning.     Where  is  your  baggage?" 

"  I  have  none," 

"  What?  no  baggage,  and  come  from  such  a  distance  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I've  neither  friends  or  anything  else  ;  I've  nothing  in 
the  world.      Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Well,  let  us  leave  here,  and  then  talk  over  the  matter." 

He  assisted  her  into  the  carriage  again,  and  they  drove  from 
the  dock. 

For  awhile  Beateice  yielded  to  the  indulgence  of  the  grief 
her  disappointment  had  occasioned,  but  as  she  began  to  recol- 
lect they  had  gone  a  considerable  distance  without  stopping,  she 
suddenly  awoke  to  a  keener  sense  of  her  forlorn  situation  ;  but 
before  she  had  time  to  consider  what  was  best  for  her  to  do,  the 


a  spinster's  story.  313 

carriage  stopped  and  they  alighted.  Her  companion  led  her 
into  a  house  that  wore  (lie  appearance  of  a  small  hotel,  though 
Was  evidently  very  quiet  and  select.  Taking  her  into  a  parlor, 
•which  was  unoccupied,  he  offered  her  a  seat,  which  the  exhaust- 
ed girl  immediately  sunk  into.  Then  placing  himself  opposite  to 
her  said, — 

"  I've  ordered  some  refreshment,  which  will  shortly  be 
brought,  in  ;  after  that  most  likely  you  will  he  glad  to  retire, 
and  1  think  you  will  rind  the  rooms  here  quite  comfortable." 

The  apartment  in  which  they  sat  was  well  lighted,  and  as 
Beatrice  looked  up  to  the  speaker,  for  the  first  time  she  had  a 
full  view  of  the  face.  The  forehead  was  high  and  intellectual, 
the  features  regular  and  handsome,  while  an  expression  of  be- 
nevolence  and  goilelessuess  pervaded  the  whole.  Then  the  tall 
figure  was  well  proportioned,  and  somewhat  commanding  to 
look  upon,  and  as  she  gazed  upon  him,  a  degree  of  confidence 
took  the  place  of  those  anxious  fears  which  had  so  perturbed 
her  excited  mind.  A  waiter  entered,  and  placing  a  salver 
upon  a  table,  left  the  room. 

"  Come,  young  lady,"  said  the  stranger,  "  take  something  to 
revive  you." 

Beatrice  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  arose  and  seizing 
his  hand,  would  have  spoken  ;  but  the  tears  started,  and  her 
emotion  would  give  no  utterance  to  words.  lie  seemed  to  un- 
derstand her,  and  with  a  smile  that  betokened  much  feeling,  took 
her  hands  in  his  own,  and  without  speaking,  led  her  to  the  ta- 
ble, and  placed  some  of  the  refreshment  before  her.  Beatrice 
felt  too  weary  to  eat,  yet  she  was  touched  by  the  kindness  of 
the  stranger,  and  placing  her  hand  upon  his  arm  said,  as  her 
tears  flowed  afresh,  "  Oh,  you  are  very  kind,  sir,  but  will  you 
be  sincere  —  will  you  be  a  true  friend  to  the  forlorn  Beatrice  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  be  but  too  happy  to  render  you  any  protec- 
tion and  assistance  in  my  power,  and  I  trust  you  will  find  that 
whatever  confidence  you  may  place  in  me  wftl  not  be  ill  requit- 
ed." 

Beatrice  had  taken  scarcely  any  food  for  two  days,  and  now, 
had  it  been  possible,  would  have  refused  ;  but  the  urgent  press- 
ing of  her  companion  was  not  to  be  resisted,  and  as  she  began 
to  partake  of  the  good  things  before  her,  he  took  from  his  pock- 
et a  journal  and  read  several  interesting  articles,  until  her  re- 
past was  finished.  Much  refreshed,  Beatrice  could  now  con- 
verse more  calmly,  and  she  briefly  told  that  she  was  one  of  the 
passengers  rescued  from  the  wreck. 

"I  know  how  weary  you  must  be,"  said  he  when  she  had 
14 


314  A    SriXSTHR?S    STORY. 

finished,  "  and  you  would  wish  to  retire,  so  let  mc  hid  you 
good-night,"  extending  bis  hand,  "  you  will  find  me  hero  in 
the  morning,  and  then  if  it's  agreeable  to  you,  we  will  set  out 
together  on  our  exploring  expedition,  and  without  doubt  we 
shall  .succeed  in  finding  your  friends.  Good-night,  Miss  Sauves- 
tre." 

"Please  let  me  ask  to  whom  am  I  indebted?  "  and  Beat- 
rice looked  inquiringly  into  the  face,  which  manifested  some 
signs  of*  embarrassment,  then  handing  her  a  card  he  turned 
away. 

"  Madam,  I  will  show  you  your  chamber,"  said  a  maid  be- 
hind her  as  she  left  the  room.     Beatrice  followed. 

She  was  shown  into  two  cosy  little  apartments  where  every- 
thing wore  an  air  of  comfort,  while,  as  it  was  a  chilly  night,  the 
fire  that  burned  brightly  in  the  little  dressing-room  looked  very 
inviting.  A  bewildering  excitement  seemed  to  have  actuated 
her  for  the  last  few  hours,  and  now,  as  she  sunk  into  a  seat  she 
endeavored  to  collect  her  scattered  thoughts,  which  for  awhile 
were  principally  of  herself;  then,  as  she  grew  weary  of  dwelling 
upon  her  misfortunes,  they  had  reference  to  the  mysterious 
stranger  who  had  voluntarily  rendered  her  so  much  kindness. 
But  who  could  the  gentleman  be  ?  He  was  young,  probably 
not  over  twenty-five  or  seven,  and  if  physiognomy  might  be  re- 
lied upon,  the  frank,  open  countenance  was  the  index  of  a  na- 
ture most  noble  and  beneficent.  Yet  why  had  he  hesitated  in 
giving  his  name,  when  he  was  engaged  only  in  what  was 
praise-worthy  and  so  highly  commendable  '!  What  reason  could 
he  have  for  wishing  to  conceal  who  he  was,  which  he  evidently 
had  endeavored  to  do  ?  As  Beatrice  was  pondering  the  matter, 
she  thought  of  the  card  he  had  handed  her,  which  she  had 
since  entirely  forgotten.  It  had  fallen  from  her  fingers  to  the 
floor,  and  as  she  raised  it,  she  found  engraved  on  one  side  the 
following,  "  Otto  Halbert,  Tailor,  5  Van  Wart  Strasse.  Bre- 
men. v 

Weary  and  exhausted,  she  found  it  impossible  to  keep  awake, 
and  recollecting  she  was  alone  among  strangers  and  foreigners, 
carefully  secured  the  doors,  and  commending  her  soul  and  body 
into  the  hands  of  an  Almighty  Protector,  laid  the  aching  head 
upon  the  pillow,  and  soon  fell  into  a  sound  slumber. 

When  Beatrice  awoke  the  next  morning  it  was  not  yet  day- 
break, but  too  anxious  to  fall  asleep  again,  she  arose  and  open- 
ing the  shutters  watched  the  lamps  in  the  streets  below,  until 
day-light  saw  them  extinguished.  In  her  solicitude  to  begin 
the  work  of  search,  she  hastily  made  her  toilet,  and  after  offer- 


a  spinster's  story.  315 

ing  the  sacrifice  of  the  morning,  felt  the  better  preparer!  for 
■whatever  might  await  her ;  still,  as  the  clock  of  a  neighboring 
church  struck  the  hour,  she  could  scarcely  refrain  from  tears 
when  she  recollected  how  early  it  was,  and  that  she  might  yet 
have  several  hours  to  wait  before  being  summoned  to  accom- 
pany her  companion  \ipon  their  exploration.  It  was  now  suf- 
ficiently light  to  discern  the  objects  in  the  rooms  she  occupied, 
and  she  sat  down  to  amuse  herself  in  imagining  how  many  va- 
rious personages  had  from  time  to  time  most  probably  moved 
within  their  walls.  In  the  little  dressing-room  was  a  book- 
case, where  rested  several  ancient  tomes  written  in  German  and 
old  English,  among  which  were  the  likenesses  and  autographs 
of  many  distinguished  literary  men.  Tn  an  open  drawer  lay  a 
package  upon  which  was  written,  "  Letters  of  Napoleon  and 
Josephine."  Of  course  these  must  have  been  copies  from  the 
originals,  and  knowing  them  to  have  been  published,  Beatrice 
did  not  hesitate  to  read  them,  and  found  in  their  warm  and  ar- 
dent language,  which  was  well  suited  to  her  rather  romantic  fan- 
cy, many  a  charm.  There  was  another  package, — the  letters  of 
some  unknown  writer,  which  bore  the  word  "  Secret ;  "  for  a 
moment  curiosity  tempted,  but  she  soon  cast  away  the  thought, 
and  left  the  package  untouched.  The  walls  of  this  room  were 
painted  in  panels,  which  were  singularly  ornamented  with  draw- 
ings, and  inscriptions  in  French  and  German,  while  one  in  Ital- 
ian told  a  miniature  history  of  a  traveller  who  had  passed  a 
night  there.  The  idea  pleased  Beatrice,  and  with  a  colored 
chalk  she  found  in  one  of  the  drawers,  she  passed  the  time  in 
filling  one  of  the  empty  panels  with  a  poetical  sketch  of  the 
wreck  and  her  own  forlorn  situation,  signing  herself,  "  The  res- 
cued." She  had  just  laid  down  the  chalk,  when  a  knock 
startled  her,  and  unfastening  the  door,  she  found  a  maid,  who 
said,  as  she  scrutinized  Beatrice  closely  "  Madam,  breakfast  is 
waiting."  Beatrice  followed  her  down  the  stairs  to  the  parlor 
where  she  had  left  the  stranger  the  night  before.  The  break- 
fast was  upon  the  table,  and  near  it  was  seated  her  friend,  Mr. 
Otto  Halbert,  the  tailor,  reading  the  newspaper. 

"  Good  morning,  Mademoiselle  Sauvestre,"  said  he,  placing  a 
chair  for  her,  "  you  look  the  better  for  a  night's  repose,  and  no 
wonder,  after  so  much  fatigue." 

The  meal  was  begun  ;  he  sat  opposite  to  her,  and  whenever 
she  raised  her  eyes,  she  found  his  riveted  upon  her,  but  they 
were  instantly  withdrawn,  except  once  when  a  sad  expression 
rested  upon  her  countenance  as  she  sat  looking  out  from  the 
window." 


OlO  A    SPINSTERS    STORT. 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  are  watching  the  clouds,  and  are  appre- 
nensive  about  the  weather,  i,  too,  think  wo  shall  have  a  storm  ; 
still  that  may  prove  no  barrier  to  our  success.  After  I  had 
bidden  you  good-night,  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  might  be  best 
to  advertise  in  to-day's  papers,  which  you  see  I  have  done," 
banding  her  a  pap  t.  "  So  if  it  please  you,  I  will  go  out  alone, 
as  it  forbodes  a  storm,  while  you  remain  here,  and  should  your 
friends  see  the  notice  in  the  papers,  and  come  before  I  return, 
please  leave  a  line  for  me,  that  I  may  know  you  are  in  safe 
keeping." 

The  proposition  was  gratefully  accepted  by  Beatrice.  Tier 
companion  took  his  departure, and  she  took  her  station  by  the  win- 
dow, hoping  every  vehicle  that  drove  to  the  door  would  convey 
some  one  to  inquire  for  her.  Noon  came,  yet  no  one  had  been 
for  Beatrice.  At  last  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  of  the  room 
where  she  was  sitting  ;  instantly  there  came  her  ready  answer  ; 
the  door  opened,  but  to  her  disappointment  it  was  only  a  waiter 
bearing  refreshments,  which  he  said  had  been  ordered  for  her. 

Heavily  and  gloomily  the  hours  wore  away,  the  afternoon 
came  ami  passed,  and  now  the  shadows  began  to  lengthen  ;  still 
the  storm  raged  violently,  and  as  it  grew  dark,  the  room  in 
which  Beatrice  sat  seemed  more  gloomy  than  ever.  "  How 
late  it  is,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  why  does  he  not  come  ?  Could 
it  be  that  he  is  not  desirous  of  finding  my  friends,  and  only 
made  the  rain  an  excuse  for  not  wishing  me  to  accompany  him  ? 
Surely  it  is  possible  that  he  would  keep  me  here  to  suit  his  own 
fancy.  I  will  fly,  and  seek  my  relations  myself.  I  am  wretched 
now,  I  shall  be  no  more  miserable  then.  Yes,  I'll  linger  hero 
no  longer,  and  he  shall  return  here  to  find  me  gone  !  " 

She  arose  and  looked  out  upon  the  night,  the  rain  was  falling 
in  torrents,  the  loud  claps  of  thunder  shook  the  house  to  its 
foundation,  and  except  when  the  lightning  flashed  vividly 
through  the  heavens,  all  was  darkness  and  obscurity.  Where 
could  she  wander  on  such  a  night?  Faint,  wet,  and  perishing 
with  cold,  of  whom  could  she  ask  a  shelter?  She  turned  from 
the  window,  the  gas  had  now  been  lighted,  the  fire  stirred,  and 
the  tea  things  brought  in  ;  and  as  Beatrice  looked  round  her, 
she  pondered  upon  what  she  was  about  to  exchange  for  the 
street.  Again,  doubt  and  dreau.  as  she  thought  of  the  stranger 
who  might  soon  return,  bade  her  brave  the  storm,  and  fly 
while  the  opportunity  offered.  She  was  moving  towards  the 
door  when  she  suddenly  stopped.  "  The  advertisement,"  thought 
she,  "  such  a  proceeding  does  not  appear  aught  that  is  not  can- 
did and  sincere,  surely  to  suspect  and  doubt  him  would  be  de- 


A    SPIN'STEIt's    STORY.  317 

fying  the  kindness  he'so  freely  ofibra."  Still  she  moved  a  few 
Btepg  onward,  and  was  standing  hesitating,  when  the  door  open- 
ed and  Mr.  I  [albert  stood  before  her. 

Well,  here  1  am  at  last,  but  Mademoiselle  will  scarcely  give 
me  a  welcome,  because  I  bring  no  good  tidings  ;  however,  p  t- 
haps  she  can  content  herself  here  a  little  longer  —  to-morrow  may 
be  more  successful." 

He  extended  his  hand,  and  the  honest  smile  that  overspread 
his  fine  countenance  as  Beatrice  took  it,  banished  all  doubt  and 
fear  from  her  wavering  mind.  They  sat  down  together,  he  re- 
counted his  day's  wanderings,  and  although  he  was  evidently 
much  exhausted,  appeared  eager  to  tell  her  all.  Wiping  away 
the  cold  drops  that  had  gathered  upon  his  forehead,  Beatrice 
bade  him  rest,  and  would  hear  no  more  until  he  had  partake:] 
of  the  refreshments  before  them.  Again  they  chatted  freely  till 
the  hour  of  ten  disturbed  them,  then  they  arose.  "  Good-night  " 
was  said,  and  they  parted. 

The  next  morning  when  Beatrice  awoke,  the  rain  was  beat- 
ing heavily  against  the  windows,  and  as  she  arose  and  looked 
upon  the  prospect  without,  she  could  scarcely  refrain  from  tears, 
for  there  seemed  to  her  but  little  likelihood  of  a  fine  day,  and 
although  she  had  placed  entire  confidence  in  her  new  acquaint- 
ance, the  thought  of  spending  another  long  day  in  anxious  sus- 
pense was .  intolerable,  while  she  still  entertained  the  idea  that 
could  she  undertake  the  work  of  search  herself,  it  might  be  more 
successful. 

Upon  descending  to  the  parlor  she  found  it  was  very  early, 
but  a  maid  who  was  stirring  about  the  house  informed  her  that 
her  friend  had  been  called  away  soon  after  she  had  left  him  the 
night  before,  and  had  not  returned.  In  a  disconsolate  mood, 
Beatrice  had  sat  down  to  meditate,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
the  gentleman  himself  entered.  His  face  glowed  with  the  exer- 
cise he  had  taken,  and  gave  no  indication  of  general  dissipation. 
The  breakfast  concluded,  he  placed  several  choice  books  in  her 
hands  to  peruse  in  his  absence,  and  took  his  leave. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  knowing  it  were  useless  to  endeav- 
or to  read,  Beatrice  took  her  seat  at  the  window  to  watch  the 
weather,  and  saw  with  delight  the  clouds  were  dispersing,  and 
found  soon  after  eight  o'clock,  that  the  streets  were  drying,  and 
the  air  clear  and  balmy.  In  the  expectation  of  some  one  com- 
ing in  answer  to  the  advertisement,  she  contented  herself  with- 
in the  house  ;  but  no  one  came,  and  at  noon,  just  as  her  patience 
was  well  nigh  exhausted,  Mr.  Halbert  again  made  his  appear- 
ance. 


318  A    SPIXSTEU'S    STORY. 

"  Well,  Ma  leraoisolle  Beatrice,  I  am  forced  to  come  to  the 
unhappy  conclusion  that  no  inquiries  have  been  made  for  you  in 
Bremen,  except  by  a  party  who  had  missed  you  from  the  ves- 
sel, and  were  on  their  way  to  Berlin." 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  !  "  And  burying  her  face  in  the  folds 
of  her  dress,  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  let  us  have  patience,  and  trust  to  Provi- 
dence for  the  rest.  Is  it  not  true  that  you  are  not  so  very  mis- 
erable as  you  might  be  ?  I  know  how  very  forlorn  you  must 
feel,  but  please  try  not  to  despair, —  indeed,  it  will  without  doubt 
be  all  right  in  the  end  ;  come,  wipe  away  all  tears,  those  eyes 
can  sparkle  well  enough  without  them,  and  listen  to  me,  I've  a 
proposition  I  think  will  please  you.  "  Raising  the  drooping  head, 
he  wiped  away  the  traces  of  tears,  and  continued,  "you  know 
this  is  a  hotel, —  a  public  house,  and  as  some  days  may  intervene 
between  now  and  the  period  of  finding  your  relations,  and  I  dis- 
like the  idea  of  leaving  you  here  all  day  alone,  unprotected,  it 
occurred  to  me,  that  the  house  of  an  old  lady,  not  far  from  here, 
whom  I  have  known  since  I  was  a  child,  would  be  a  more  suit- 
able home  for  you ;  and  in  the  meantime,  I  will  advertise  in 
France." 

The  idea  was  pleasing  to  Beatrice,  and  promising  if  possible 
not  to  give  way  to  despair  for  a  week,  she  consented  to  accom- 
pany him  to  the  residence  of  the  old  lady. 

"  This  old  nurse  of  ours,"  said  her  companion  as  they  passed 
out  of  the  house,  "  is  a  Portuguese,  but  speaks  very  good  Eng- 
lish. I  know  she  is  rather  a  singular  body,  but  I  am  acquaint- 
ed with  no  one  in  this  city  in  whom  I  could  place  the  same 
confidence,  and  I  can  feel  you  are  safe  in  her  keeping." 

Entering  a  retired  street,  they  soon  reached  a  small,  irregular- 
ly built  house  or  cottage,  and  ascending  the  steps,  her  compan- 
ion inquired  for  his  old  friend.  They  were  led  to  a  little  room 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  where,  seated  upon  the  floor,  was  a 
strange  looking  old  woman,  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"Well,  Marie,  how  d'ye  do?"  asked  her  visitor,  extending 
to  her  his  band. 

With  no  small  degree  of  nonchalance  she  slowly  raised  her 
hand  to  his,  and  eyeing  him  and  Beatrice  with  a  close  scrutiny, 
said,  as  she  continued  to  enjoy  her  cigarette,  "  What  brought 
you  here  ?  "  and  again  looked  at  Beatrice. 

"  Why,  Marie,  I  have  brought  this  young  lady,  Mademoiselle 
Sauvestre,  that  you  may  take  care  of  her  for  a  little  while,  until 
she  finds  her  friends  ;  she  will  tell  you  what  an  adventurous 
life  she  has  had,  and  you  will  try  to  make  her  as  happy  and 
comfortable  as  you  can,  wont  you  ?  " 


A   SI'IXSTER's   stoky.  319 

Another  penetrative  glance  at  Beatrice  was  the  only  answer 
from  the  old  woman. 

"  Well,  Mademoiselle  Beatrice,"  said  her  companion,  turning 
to  her,  "  I  must  say  good -by  for  the  present.  I  will  advertise  in 
the  French  papers,  and  should  nothing  extraordinary  occur, 
you  will  see  me  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

JJeatrice  took  the  proffered  hand,  and  as  she  looked  at  the 
strange  old  woman  upon  the  floor,  and  thought  how  long  it 
would  be  before  the  day  after  to-morrow,  she  felt  she  would 
have  given  worlds  to  have  had  him  remain.  Alone  in  a  foreign 
bind  as  she  was,  without  a  friend  to  whom  she  could  fly,  she 
fully  appreciated  the  unlimited  kindness  of  the  stranger  who  had 
so  interested  himself  in  her  behalf,  and  as  she  gazed  after  him 
when  he  left  the  house,  it  seemed  she  must  call  him  back,  and  en- 
treat him  as  her  only  friend,  not  to  leave  her.  But  soon  he 
was  out  of  sight,  and  again  entering  the  dark,  gloomy,  room  she 
took  a  seat  opposite  her  hostess  who,  without  speaking,  still  kept 
her  eyes  riveted  upon  her. 

At  last  the  cigarette  was  finished,  and  turning  to  a  servant 
girl  who  stood  near,  the  old  woman  said,  "  Marguerite,  show 
this  girl  into  the  parlor,"  nodding  at  Beatrice,  "  and  also  take 
her  to  the  room  in  the  garret  next  to  yours,  she  can  have  that, 
it's  quite  good  enough  for  her." 

Wondering  at  the  purport  of  her  words,  Beatrice  cast  a  timid 
glance  at  the  strange  old  woman,  and  thanking  her,  followed 
the  maid  from  the  room. 

The  parlor  into  which  she  was  shown,  was  scarcely  less  gloomy 
than  that  which  possessed  the  witch -like  presence,  except  that 
it  looked  upon  the  street,  and  occasionally  a  pedestrian  might  be 
seen  passing  the  house. 

Among  the  books  Mr.  Halbert  had  left  her  was  the  Life  of 
Madame  de  Stael,  and  Beatrice  had  forgotten  her  own  troubles 
and  was  engrossed  in  those  of  her  heroine,  when  she  was  sum- 
moned to  tea.  On  entering  the  room  she  found  her  hostess 
seated  at  a  table  which  contained  a  dish  of  small  birds  fricasseed 
in  a  most  novel  style,  some  brown  bread,  and  chocolate.  The 
meal  was  eaten  in  silence,  and  when  finished,  the  old  woman 
continued  her  gaze  of  scrutiny,  but  not  a  word  was  spoken  ;  at 
last,  after  a  deep  sigh  she  frowned  and  said,  "  I  don't  feel  able 
to  talk  to-day."  Taking  this  as  a  signal  for  her  to  retire,  Be- 
atrice left  her  again  to  her  cigarette,  and  seated  alone  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  next  room,  soon  fell  into  musing  over  her  precarious 
fate  ;  but  before  long  the  loud  tones  of  the  strange  old  woman 
aroused  her. 


320  A  spixstee's  story. 

'  Marguerite,  take  care  to  bolt  the  doors,  in  case  that  girl 
should  want  to  go  out." 

"  But,  Madame,  there's  some  one  on  the  steps  with  a  trunk." 

"Send  it  awaj,  it  does'nt  belong  here." 

"Is  your  oame  Sauvcstre,  Mademoiselle?"  inquired  the 
maid,  entering  the  room  where  Beatrice  was  sitting. 

"  Yes  ;  does  any  one  inquire  for  me  ? 

Going  into  the  passage,  Beatrice  found  a  man  with  a  small 
trunk  and  a  parcel  bearing  a  note  which  ran  thus, — 

"  Mademoiselle  will  not  be  offended,  but  accept  these  necessaries 
which  may  serve  her  for  the  present.  O.  U." 

"  Wait,  I'll  come  and  see  what  it's  all  about ;  "  said  the  old 
woman,  who,  as  she  came  into  the  light  proved  to  be  very 
swarthy,  and  of  a  most  rigid  expression.  Hearing  the  things 
were  for  Beatrice,  she  turned  to  her,  and  said  with  a  scowl, 
"  I  thought  you  had  lost  your  friends?  "  then,  as  Beatrice  was 
about  to  reply,  added,  "  Oh,  no  matter,  as  I  said  before,  I'm 
not  able  to  talk  to-day ;  "  and  returned  to  the  dark  room  she 
had  left 

On  examining  the  trunk,  Beatrice  found  it  to  contain  every- 
thing necessary  for  a  lady's  wardrobe,  and  without  doubt  it  had 
been  carefully  and  considerately  arranged  by  the  hands  of  a 
woman.  Then  there  was  a  work-box,  writing-desk,  a  pretty 
little  watch,  a  Bible,  a  book  of  sermons,  a  map  of  the  city  she 
was  in,  etc.  But  it  was  growing  dark,  and  as  there  was  no 
sign  of  a  light  in  any  part  of  the  house,  she  was  forced  to  sit 
unoccupied  in  the  gloomy  darkness,  until  overcome  with  drowsi- 
ness, she  sought  the  rude  little  garret,  which  was  very  barely 
furnished  and  crusted  with  dust,  to  leave  for  awhile  her  troubles 
in  oblivion,  and  dream  of  a  happy  home  among  her  new  friends 
in  sunny  France. 

The  next  day  passed  much  as  the  latter  part  of  the  previous 
had  done,  and  as  before,  the  strange  old  woman  declared  she  did 
not  feel  able  to  talk.  The  vivacious  spirit  of  Beatrice  longed 
for  a  change,  and  she  begged  to  accompany  the  maid  on  her 
errands  in  the  streets,  but  this  the  old  woman  peremptorily  for- 
bade, and  Beatrice  impatiently  awaited  the  dawn  of  the  mor- 
row, when  she  should  see  again  the  happy,  benevolent  face  of 
her  new  friend.  It  came,  and  anxiously  did  Beatrice  watch  for 
his  appearance;  the  morning  was  past,  yet  he  had  not  come; 
the  afternoon  had  faded  into  evening,  and  Beatrice  was  des- 
pairing of  seeing  him,  when  his  clastic  step  was  heard  upon  the 
threshold. 


A    SriNSTEI^S    STORY.  321 

Pleasantly  that  evening  flitted  by;  as  they  became  better 
acquainted,  Beatrice  found  her  friend  superiorly  educated,  and 
well  informed,  exceedingly  humorous  and  jocular,  possessing  a 
sound  mind,  with  much  depth  of  character,  which,  though  pliant 
and  versatile  when  the  subject  permitted,  ever  manifested  a 
basis  of  principle  which  no  persuasion  could  falter.  Every 
other  evening  lie  devoted  to  dispelling  the  hours  of  ennui  from 
the  lonely  Beatrice,  who,  observing  he  was  sometimes  void  of 
the  spirit  of  cheer  that  usually  characterized  him,  would  enliven 
him  with  her  song,  when  the  old  woman  would  coaie,  accom- 
panied by  her  cigarette,  and  taking  her  scat  upon  the  floor,  lis- 
ten in  silence.  One  evening,  as  they  sat  alone,  Beatrice  again 
expressed  her  gratitude,  when  he  replied, — 

"Perhaps  you  are  not  indebted  to  me  as  you  imagine.  It 
was  not  wholly  the  spirit  of  philanthropby  that  first  prompted 
me  tn  notice  you.  There  is  deeply  engraven'  upon  my  memory 
the  image  of  one  who,  although  now  lost  to  me  for  ever,  is  still 
most  dear  to  me,  and  though  the  past  is  painful  to  recall,  for 
worlds  I  would  not  have  the  memory  of  her  erased  from  my 
soul  ;  I  live  in  it  —  I  could  not  exi<t  without  it ;  when  I  do 
right  it  is  her  recollection  alone  which  prompts  the  act,  and 
when  I  fall  into  error  it  is  because  I  have  ceased  to  remember 
that  she  is  still  dear  to  me  !  But,  Beatrice,  your  countenance 
resembles  hers,  and  that  first  arrested  my  notice." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  seeing  he  was  much  moved,  Beat- 
rice changed  the  subject,  and  said  she  had  long  entertained  the 
idea,  that  if  she  were  once  in  France,  she  might  readily  find 
her  relations. 

"  Well,  if  you  wish  to  go,  I  don't  want  to  keep  you  here  ; 
it  may  be  that  your  success  depends  upon  it,  and  as  our  efforts 
have  been  fruitless  so  far,  we  can  but  make  another  trial  in 
France  ;  so,  when  you  like,  we  will  start." 

"  Oh,  but  I  could  go  alone,  I  would  not  have  you  leave  your 
business  — " 

"  I  have  none  at  present  but  to  accompany  you." 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  tailor." 
i     "  I  believe  I  was  one  evening,  when  I  handed  you   that 
cird." 

Beatrice  inquired  no  further.  If  he  desired  to  conceal  who  he 
was,  it  mattered  not  to  her.  He  had  proved  himself  a  true  friend 
to  the  distressed,  she  was  grateful,  he  knew  it,  and  that  was 
enough. 

Observing  she  was  silent,  he  said  no  more  upon  the  subject, 
but  rising  to  go,  added,  "  Well,  the  day  after  to-morrow  I  will 


322  a  spixster's  story. 

cull  at  eight  o'clock,  and  we  will  set  out  for  Paris.  Good-by, 
Mademoiselle  ;  "  and  he  was  <:one. 

The  nexl  morning,  as  Beatrice  was  sitting  alone  in  the  little 
garret  room,  the  door  was  bo  Id.-nly  opened  and  the  strange  old 
woman  entere  1  ;  for  a  Pew  seconds  she  stood  without  speaking, 
while  she  cast  her  severe,  penetrating  glance  upon  her.  At 
last  she  took  the  cigarette  between  her  fingers,  and  in  a  loud, 
commanding  voice  began, — 

•■  Who  are  you?  Where  have  you  come  from;  and  how 
long  have  you  known  him  ?  " 

Beatrice  gave  her  name,  and  was  answering  the  second  ques- 
tion, when  her  interlocutor  interrupted  her. 

•'  Oh,  you  need  not  take  the  trouble  to  tell  me  anything 
about  the  wreck,  I've  heard  plenty  of  such  tales  in  my  time,  and 
now  am  too  old  to  believe  them.  But  tell  me,  how  long  have 
you  known  him  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  the  gentleman  who  brought  me  here,  Ma- 
dame ?     Oh,  I  first  met  him  at  a  hotel  not  far  from  here." 

I  thought  as  much.  Who  sent  you  those  things?  But  no 
matter,  of  course  he  did,  I  see  it  all  plainly  enough." 

"  Oh,  but  Madame,  as  soon  as  I  find  my  friends,  we  shall  be 
but  too  happy  to  make  all  compensation, — 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  so,  you  know  very  well  you  only  care  for 
him  so  long  as  he'll  provide  for  you, —  that's  all  such  girls  as  you 
want.  I  met  with  many  like  you  when  I  lived  in  Spain,  and 
know  exactly  how  you  play  your  part ;  when  you  have  an  op- 
portunity to  conceal  your  true  character,  you  do.  and  pretend  to 
be  a  heroine  in  distress,  making  yourself  as  fascinating  as  possi- 
ble, that  you  may  captivate  such  an  unsuspicious  young  fellow 
as  poor  Oscar.  And  it  is  such  as  you,  despicable  girl,"  ap- 
proaching her  with  an  uplifted  hand,  "  yes,  just  such  as  you, 
who  do  half  the  harm  in  the  world,  instead  of  earning  an  hon- 
est livelihood.  You  intend  your  pretty  face  to  provide  for  you. 
"Why,  when  I  think  of  the  advantage  you  have  taken  of  this 
young  Oscar,  I  feel  inclined  to  turn  you  directly  from  my  door. 
I've  known  him  ever  since  he  was  an  infant,  his  family  is  high- 
ly respectable,  and  would  not  tolerate  such  as  you ;  but  I  mean 
to  inform  them  of  all  this.  You  took  good  care  it  should  be  a 
baron  you  captivated,  didn't  you  ?  because  you  knew  he  was 
wealthy,  and  could  give  you  all  you  asked  ;  and  see  how  you 
rouge  every  day  of  your  life." 

"  Oh,  Madame,"  cried  the  terrified  Beatrice,  "  indeed  I  did 
not  know  he  was  a  baron,  and  truly  I  never  paint,  come  and 
examine  my  skin, — " 


a  spinster's  story.  323 

"  But  I'll  not  listen  to  such  !  How  can  you  tell  mo  any- 
thing so  false  as  to  declare  you  did  not  know  he  was  the  rich 
Baron  de  Korsa  ?  I've  written  to  inform  his  friends  of  your 
proceedings,  and  Line  disgrace  the  poor  fellow  will  be  in,  for 
bis  father  was  an  honorable  man,  and  so  might  his  son  have 
been  but  for  you.  And  at  the  same  time,  while  you  are  leading 
him  into  all  this  trouble,  of  course  every  time  you  see  him  you 
pretend  to  fall  into  rhapsodies  of  love,  to  manifest  how  intense- 
ly you  care  for  him,  and  he's  foolish  enough  to  believe  you. 
But  there  shall  be  no  more  of  this  in  my  house.  He  must  know 
what  you  are  by  this  time.  I  despise  him  for  continuing  his  at- 
tention, and  when  he  comes  here  again,  I  shall  not  forget  to  tell 
him  what  I  think  of  you  and  him  too.  After  acting  as  he  has, 
he  is  a  disgrace  to  the  society  he  moves  in,  and  — 

"  Oh,  .Madame,  please  do  not  talk  so  !  I  do  respect  the 
goodness  that  is  in  him,  but  indeed  I  never  told  him  I  loved 
him.  But  I  don't  understand  you.  Who  and  what  do  you  take 
me  to  be  ?  Oh  tell  me  what  you  mean ;  or  at  least,  whatever 
you  may  think  of  me,  entertain  no  evil  thoughts  of  him  —  in- 
deed, he  is  noble  and  good,  and  all  that  is  honorable  !  Oh,  for 
worlds  I  would  not  have  him  suspected  of  wrong  on  my  account 
- —  tell  me  of  anything  I  can  do  to  shield  him  from  the  censure 
you  say  is  about  falling  upon  him,  and  I  will  do  it.  He  was 
a  friend  to  me  when  I  had  no  other,  and  what  would  I  not  do 
to  serve  him  !  "  She  looked  beseechingly  at  the  ugly  old  wo- 
man, but  only  saw  the  same  angry  frown,  the  same  stern  pene- 
tration, and  sinking  upon  the  floor,  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  it's  useless  for  you  to  feign  all  that,  for  I  once  began 
such  a  course  as  yours,  and  practiced  the  same  thing  myself, 
and  could  shed  tears  at  any  moment,  if  any  one  reproached  me  ; 
so  you  see  I'm  well  acquainted  with  the  art,  although  I  did  not 
practice  it  long,  for  I  found  there  were  plenty  with  more  at- 
tractions than  1  had,  so  was  soon  obliged  to  abandon  that  life  ; 
and  cross  as  I  seem,  I  am  quite  sorry  for  you,  because  I  know 
it's  a  great  misfortune  for  a  poor  girl  like  you  to  have  been 
born  with  a  pretty  face.  Still,  at  the  same  time  I  cannot  for- 
give you  for  deceiving  this  young  Oscar,  which  you  must  have 
done,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  such  characters  as  you,  before  this, 
but  now  he  is  ruined  for  ever  ;  and  yet  you  are  hypocrite  enough 
to  say  you  respect  him,  when  to-morrow  you  will  injure  his  rep- 
utation still  farther,  by  going  to  France  with  him." 

"  Oh,  but  I  will  not !  I  will  go  alone  —  this  instant !  Only 
give  me  one  moment  to  get  ready  —  please  don't  talk  so  any 
more,  and  I  will  soon  be  gone  !  " 


324  a  snxsTKu's  btoby. 

"  Yes  ;  and  when  you  arrive  there  you  will  write,  and  let 
him  know  where  you  are." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed    1   will   not !    if  I   have   injured   him    it 

shall  In;  the  last  time,  f  will  see  him  no  more  ;  whatever  you 
may  think  of  me,  believe  my  words,  T  will  banish  myself  from 
him,  where  his  kindness  cannot  reach  me.  I  have  no  money, 
but  I  will  go,  if  I  beg  my  passage  all  the  way.  Only  please 
me  for  a  moment,  you  disturb  me." 

"  Very  well ;  I  see  you  are  not  so  utterly  depraved  but  that 
you  ean  have  a  little  love  for  him,  and  indeed  it  would  be  a 
great  pity  for  him  to  be  so  lost.  I  know  a  girl  like  you  can't 
very  well  help  it.  only  take  care  next  time  to  fascinate  some  old 
man,  whose  reputation  is  gone,  and  not  an  inexperienced  young 
fellow  like  this  poor  Oscar  de  Korsa  ;  "  and  she  left  the  room. 
But  her  words  were  lost  upon  Beatrice,  who  stood  gazing  into 
vacancy.  "  I  could  never  carry  these,  and  I've  no  money  to 
pay  any  one  !  "  said  she  to  herself,  looking  at  her  things.  Sit- 
ting down,  she  began  to  empty  some  of  the  contents  of  the  little 
desk  into  her  pocket,  when,  underneath  some  paper,  she  found 
a  purse  which  she  had  not  before  discovered,  containing  seventy- 
five  thalers.  Beatrice  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  what  will  you  think 
of  me?  But  after  all  you  have  done,  I  would  rather  you 
should  think  any  ill  of  me,  than  stay  here  one  moment  longer 
to  injure  you.  May  God  bless  you  !  whoever  you  are,  what- 
ever your  name  may  be,  may  you  one  day  be  rewarded  for 
your  kindness  to  the  friendless,  and  forlorn  Beatrice  !  " 

The  door  opened,  the  old  woman  again  made  her  appearance, 
and  seeing  Beatrice  tying  her  bonnet  said,  "  Oh,  I  was  afraid 
you  had  changed  your  mind,  and  would  not  go.  You  can  take 
all  your  things,  there  are  hosts  of  little  urchins  in  the  street 
who  will  be  glad  to  carry  them  to  the  station  for  these  few  ma- 
caroons; "  and  taking  up  the  trunk  and  parcels  as  though  they 
had  been  nothing  more  than  a  bundle  of  feathers,  she  descend- 
ed the  stairs,  followed  by  Beatrice.  On  reaching  the  door, 
winch  was  open,  she  stood  for  a  moment  without  speaking,  while 
she  suspended  a  macaroon  in  mid-air.  Soon  a  flock  of  ragged 
little  street-sweepers  and  their  associates,  crowded  the  door 
Handing  one  of  them  the  baggage,  with  a  look  of  command  she 
gave  several  loud  orders  in  German,  and  placing  the  macaroon; 
in  the  rim  of  his  •  time-worn  bat,  pushed  him  from  the  dour. 
Then  turning  to  Beatrice,  whose  progress  her  corpulent  figure 
had  impeded,  and  letting  her  large  hands  fall  heavily  upon  her 
shoulders,  she  said,  "  You  are  very  pretty,  and  have  beautiful 


a  spinster's  story.  325 

hair,  I'm  sorry  you  arc  obliged  to  lead  such  a  life.  Goodly  ; " 
and  pressing  the  agitated  girl  to  her  bosom  she  kissed  her  fore- 
head.  Beatrice  felt  the  hot,"  tainted  breath  from  the  cigarette 
upon  her  cheek,  and  sufferin  ;  her  lips  to  press  the  swarthy  skin 
of  the  old  woman,  fled  from  the  house. 

Beatrice  and  her  escort  arrived  at  the  station,  where,  having 
taken  her  ticket,  she  recompensed  the  boy  for  his  trouble,  and 
remembering  she  was  again  alone  in  a  strange  city,  it  was  not 
without  a  feeling  of  regret  that  she  saw  him  turn  away. 

Taking  a  seat  i,n  a  corner  of  the  car,  she  hoped  to  avoid  ob- 
servation ;  but  soon  an  old  gentleman  sat  down  opposite  her, 
and  after  gazing  at  her  a  considerable  time,  asked  her  if  she 
were  alone.  Wishing  him  to  understand  she  was  a  foreigner,  not 
comprehending  a  word  of  German,  she  shook  her  head,  and  was 
silent ;  soon  after  he  arose  and  went  to  another  part  of  the  car. 
Believing  she  was  now  loft  to  herself,  Beatrice  breathed  more 
freely,  but  to  her  dismay,  an  old  lady  who  had  been  watching 
her  some  time,  came  and  took  a  seat  close  beside  her.  Not  a 
little  disconcerted,  Beatrice  moved  still  further  into  the  corner, 
and  ihe  old  lady  moved  still  closer  to  her.  When  they  had  been 
travelling  about  four  hours,  and  the  train  was  about  to  stop, 
Beatrice  found  the  hand  of  the  old  lady  in  her  pocket.  She 
started,  and  uttered  a  faint  cry,  which  was  unheard  amid  the 
commotion,  and  while  she  looked  round  for  aid,  the  old  lady 
was  gone.  Fortunately  for  Beatrice,  she  had  concealed  her  little 
purse  within  her  bosom,  so  that  she  sustained  no  serious  loss. 

It  was  evening  when  our  traveller  arrived  at  her  destination 
in  Paris.  In  a  waiting-room  at  the  station,  her  attention  was 
arrested  by  a  nurse  and  children,  whose  ignorance  of  the  lan- 
guage rendered  their  position  exceedingly  awkward.  Taking 
compassion  upon  the  anxious  faces  of  the  children,  she  offered 
her  services  as  interpreter,  which  were  gratefully  accepted  ;  and 
learning  they  desired  to  remain  at  a  hotel  until  the  morning, 
gladly  joined  the  delighted  party,  and  accompanied  them  to  the 
hotel.  In  the  morning,  the  father  of  the  children  came  to  meet 
them,  when  the  enthusiastic  little  creatures  informed  him  of  Be- 
atrice's kindness,  and  forced  him  to  the  side  of  their  benefac- 
tress, to  whom  he  expressed  his  warmest  thanks.  There  was 
the  air  of  the  perfect  gentleman,  and  a  parental  sympathy  and 
gentleness  in  his  look  and  manner,  which  Beatrice  could  not 
resist,  and  summoning  fresh  courage,  she  inquired  of  him  wheth- 
er he  could  recommend  her  some  private  residence,  where  she 
could  take  up  her  abode  for  a  short  time.  In  reply,  he  spoke 
in  high  tones  of  the  family  where  he  was  staying,  and  seeing 
Beatrice  was  satisfied,  offered  her  a  seat  in  his  carraige. 


326  a  spinster's  story. 

The  house  to  which  they  repaired  was  pleasantly  situated  in 
a  street  near  Place  de  la  Concorde,  the  upper  windows  over- 
Looking  the  gardens  of  Les  Tuilleries.  Surrounded  by  all  that 
was  hospitable  and  inviting,  the  vivacity  that  characterized  Be- 
atrice began  to  return,  as  she  found  the  society  select  and  con- 
genial to  her  taste,  for  it  consisted  of  two  foreign  families  dis- 
tinguished for  their  musical  talent,  among  whom  was  the  cele- 
brated Mademoiselle  Jenny  L and  several  from  the  most  re- 
fined circles  of  Paris. 

Upon  her  arrival  she  had  advertised  in  all  the  principal  prov- 
inces, and  thinking  now  that  she  was  in  France,  she  must  cer- 
tainly be  successful,  she  awaited  the  issue  in  joyful  expectation, 
while  in  the  meantime  she  became  one  of  the  favorites  of  the 
household,  and  was  the  recipient  of  such  kindness  and  affability 

from   Jenny  L as  never  to  be  forgotten.     But  the   weeks 

glided  by,  and  although  during  the  day  and  evening  she  was 
dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  of  that  fascinating  city,  she  seldom  al- 
lowed the  day  to  close  without  retiring  to  her  room  to  give  vent 
to  tears. 

It  was  now  five  weeks  since  Beatrice  arrived  in  Paris,  yet  no 
tidings  ;  while  it  was  thought  by  those  who  interested  them- 
selves in  her,  that  the  estate  of  her  uncle  was  in  some  distant 
province,  and  had  passed  into  some  other  branch  of  the  family 
under  auother  name  ;  or  probably,  not  being  willing  to  acknowl- 
edge an  heir,  her  relations  might  be  blind  to  the  advertisement, 
and  as  Beatrice  had  not  the  means  to  fee  a  lawyer,  the  matter 
could  not  be  further  investigated.  They  advised  her  therefore 
to  trust  no  more  to  it  for  the  present,  but  to  support  herself  by 
the  exercise  of  her  musical  talent  ;  and  as  the  two  hundred  and 
sixty  francs  were  nearly  exhausted,  she  resolved  to  deliberate 
no  longer,  but  to  make  the  trial. 

Some  young  ladies  in  the  house  mentioned  it  to  the  kind- 
hearted  Jenny  L and  no  sooner  did  that  benevolent  lady 

hear  of  the  proposition,  than  she  immediately  interested  herself  in 
Beatrice's  behalf,  and  early  one  morning  invited  Beatrice  to 
accompany  her,  that  she  might  be  introduced  to  one  of  the 
first  masters  in  Paris. 

"  Well,  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  little  professor,  after  Beat- 
rice had  agreed  to  instruct  his  children,  "  now  let  me  have  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  you  sing." 

Beatrice  complied,  and  afterwards  joined  her  companion  in 
the  duet  of  "  Norma." 

"  Many  thanks,  ladies,  now  please  sit  down  again,  and  Mad- 
emoiselle Sauvestre,  I've  something  more  to  say  to  you.     After 


a  spinstbb's  story.  327 

bcarine;  you  sino;,  I  am  obliged  to  conclude  that  I  ought  not  to 
give  you  the  tuition  of  my  children." 

'•  I  am  very  sorry,  sir." 

"  And  to  be  candid  witb  you,  I  never  intended  you  should 
teach  them."  • 

"Then,  sir,  you  have  deceived  me,"  with  a  glowing  cheek. 

"  I  know  it,  for  I  am  a  bachelor  and  have  no  children." 

Here  Mademoiselle  Jenny  L and  the  professor  burst  into 

laughter.     Beatrice  smiled  faintly,  then,  with  a  sadder  expres- 
sion than  ever,  arose  to  leave. 

"  Oh,  wait,"  exclaimed  the  little  professor,  "  I've  not  told 
you  all.  I  heard  of  your  talent,  and  that  you  intended  to  en- 
ter the  professional  world  as  an  instructress.  Now  I  knew  if 
what  I  had  been  told  were  true,  that  Mademoiselle  Sauvestre 
was  never  intended  to  sit  in  obscurity  teaching  children,  but  to 
shine  as  one  of  the  prominent  artistes  of  the  day.  I  knew  also 
that  you  had  no  thought  of  such  a  career,  and  would  timorously 
shrink  from  such  a  proposition,  being  aware  probably,  how  diffi- 
cult a  matter  it  is  to  obtain  even  a  satisfactory  interview  with 
any  of  the  great  masters.  So,  knowing  that  if  I  made  a  trial 
of  your  skill,  I  could  tell  you  at  once  how  far  you  were  quali- 
fied for  the  profession,  I  begged  Mademoiselle  to  bring  you  to 
me  that  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you.  So  you  see 
I  am  not  the  only  person  concerned  in  this  plot ; "  glancing  at 

the  smiling  Jenny  L .    "  Now  Mademoiselle  Sauvestre,  allow 

me  to  inform  you  that  if  you  are  willing,  you  can  become  a  star 
whenever  you  choose,  and  no  longer  will  there  be  occasion  for 
you  to  solicit  the  attentions  of  your  relations  or  friends ;  you 
will  be   independent  of  them  all.      Say  you  are   willing,  and  I 
will  engage  you   at  once  for  the  solos  in  our  next  oratorio." 

"  Come,  Mademoiselle,"  interposed  her  friend,  "  consent ; 
be  assured  your  debut  will  be  one  of  success." 

Beatrice  raised  her  eyes  from  the  floor,  and  extending  her 
hand  to  the  professor,  said,  "  Monsieur,  I  shall  be  very  happy 
to  accept  your  kind  offer." 

"  Then  please  be  punctual  at  the  rehearsal,  to-morrow  at  ten 
o'clock. 

The  oratorio  was  given  before  a  crowded  house,  and  Beatrice, 
in  her  simple  robe  of  white  muslin,  made  her  first  appearance 
before  the  public,  which  was  acknowledged  by  the  enthusiastic 
Parisians  to  be  one  of  brilliant  success.  Thus  began  Beatrice's 
career  as  an  artiste. 

After  a  succession  of  oratorios  had  been  given,  they  were  sus- 
pended until  the  following  season,  and  Beatrice,  with  a  capital 


32S  a  spinster's  btoey. 

of  seventeen  hundred  francs,  after  her  hills  had  boon  paid,  re- 
tire.1  from  the  sta  ;c  to  awail  a  re  commencement  in  the  autumn, 
should  she  still  hear  no  tidings  of  her  relatives. 

But  the  !'  of  t!i  ■  Parisians,  and  the  many  attractions 

of  that  gayest  of  cities,  iti.l  not  wholly  satisfy  the  active  mind 
of  Beatrice  ;  she  sought  occupation,  and  now  it  was.  in  her  leis- 
ure hours,  when  her  companions,  for  want  of  something  to  do, 
ined  on  their  couches,  and  left  to  herself,  that  she  began  to 
arrange  the  opera  of  "  II  Confessarc."  When  completed,  she 
oflfjred  it  to  the  professional  world  for  approval.  It  was  much 
admired,  and  purchased  for  six  thousand  francs.  The  director 
of  the  opera  desired  B  ■  itrico  to  attend  the  rehearsals,  with  which 
request  she  readily  complied. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  he,  aside,  to  her  on  one  of  these  occa- 
sions, could  you  suggest  any  improvement  in  that  lady's  acting 
during  that  scene  1  " 

The  lady  in  question,  though  generally  a  <rood  actress,  and 
possessing  a  beautiful  voice,  was  not  a  sufficient  tragedienne  to 
throw  the  desired  effect  into  that  particular  scone  ;  Beatrice 
readily  detected  what  was  wanting  in  her  style,  but  loath  to 
complain,  made  som,1  slighl  observation,  and  evaded  the  ques- 
tion. Not  satisfied  with  a  repeated  attempt  of  the  lady,  the  di- 
rector undertook  to  explain  to  her  what  attitude  and  gestures 
he  desired  ;  failing  to  make  the  lady  fully  un  lerstand,  he  plead- 
ed the  assistance  of  Beatrice,  who,  throwing  off  her  bonnet,  im- 
mediately took  the  lady's  part  in  that  scene.  She  recollected 
whose  memory  it  was  that  had  first  suggested  the  writing  of  that 
plot,  and  she  had  bat  to  breathe  the  name  of  Herbert  to  enter 
into  the  full  spirit  of  the  piece.  The  scene  ended,  Beatrice  re- 
tired amid  the  enthusiastic  applause  of  the  spectators. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  director,  following  her,  "  if  you 
are  ambitious  in  regard  to  the  success  of  your  opera,  you  must 
take  the  principal  part  yourself. 

Beatrice  declined,  fearing  she  might  injure  the  lady  already 
engaged  ;  but  hearing  he  intended  to  dispense  with  the  services 
of  that  artiste,  and  seek  another,  she  accepted  the  engagement  ; 
nor  was  her  debut  as  an  actress  less  brilliant  than  the  previous 
had  been.  For  several  successive  weeks  the  opera  was  repeated 
before  crowded  houses,  and  lessees  of  opera  houses  in  other 
cities  sought  to  make  arrangements  with  the  young  artiste,  and 
the  papers  of  Berlin  announced  she  would  shortly  appear  in 
that  city. 

But  although  engaged  evening  after  evening  until  a  late  hour, 
Beatrice  had  not  given  the  daytime  to  rest,  for  she  prepared  a 


a  spixstkr's  story.  329 

second  opera,  in  which  she  was  to  appear  previous  to  her  de- 
parture from  Paris.  On  account  of  her  engagement  in  Berlin, 
her  time  in  France  was  very  limited,  and  it  was  necessary  that 
the  rehearsals  for  the  new  opera  should  be  few,  and  frequent  as 
possible. 

It  was  Saturday,  and  as  the  first  rehearsal  concluded,  the  les- 
see announced, 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  wc  shall  meet  again  to-morrow,  at 
ten  o'clock  precisely.  All,  with  the  exception  of  Beatrice, 
nodded  assent. 

"  Oh  Signore,"  exclaimed  she,  "  I  cannot,  I  am  a  Protestant." 

"  What,  cannot  come  because  it  is  Sunday?  then  we  must 
do  without  you  until  after  the  mass." 

"  But  Signore,  I  could  not  come  at  any  time  to-morrow;  we 
must  keep  the  Sabbath  holy." 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  surely  cannot  fully  understand, —  every 
one  must  be  here  to-morrow  or  we  cannot  go  through  the  whole 
in  full  costume." 

"  Signore,  I  cannot ;  it  is  one  of  the  great  laws  of  our  re- 
ligion." 

"  And  do  you  suppose  I  have  no  regard  for  religion  ?  I  also 
am  a  Christian,  and  no  matter  how  fatigued,  I  always  attend 
vespers  on  Sunday." 

"  Yes,  Signore,  but  in  my  religion,  we  must  keep  the  whole 
of  the  day,  not  a  -part  only." 

"  Mademoiselle,  this  is  nonsense,"  growing  angry.  "  it  is  a 
duty  your  profession  demands.      Come  to-morrow,  or  resign." 

"  But  Signore,  they  can  rehearse  very  well  to  morrow  with- 
out me,  and  I  do  not  require  it.  You  never  knew  me  to  fail, 
and  you  will  find  me  perfect  in  my  part  on  Monday." 

"  Ah,  but  I  require  it.      Come  to-morrow  or  resign." 

"Then,  Signore,  I  will  resign." 

"  What,  Mademoiselle  Sauvestre  resign  ?"  cried  the  united 
voices  of  her  fellow  artists,  looking  in  consternation  at  the  silent 
lessee.  "  Oh,  Signore  !  "  continued  several  entreatingly,  "  sin: 
needs  no  rehearsal,  the  talented  Mademoiselle  Beatrice  can  take 
any  part  at  any  moment,  and  you  know  she  is  always  fully  pre- 
pared.     Oh,  do  not  let  her  resign  !  " 

They  repaired  to  the  green  room,  thence  to  the  dressing-room 
of  the  young  artiste,  but  only  hex  maid  remained  putting  up 
her  wardrobe,  for  she  was  gone. 

Beatrice  was  ill  ;  the  professor,  under  whom  she  had  placed 
herself  for  the  further  cultivation  of  her  voice,  had  allowed  her 


330  a  spinster's  story. 

to  take  liut  very  little  substantial  food  during  several  days;  the 
rest  which  she  bad   allotted   herself,  had   been  insufficient,  and 

her  strength,  wholly  inadequate  to  her  indefatigable  exertions,' 
now  sunk  under  the  exhaustion.  Knowing  her  to  be  celebrated, 
and  receiving  a  large  income,  many  made  constant  demands 
upon  her  purse, for  charitable  purposes  ;  and  Beatrice,  ever  ready 
lo  relieve  the  distressed,  had  listened  to  every  talc  of  woe,  and 
had  given  not  only  lavishly  but  indiscriminately  ;  and  trusting 
to  the  proceeds  of  her  new  opera,  she  had  expended  nearly  the 
last  franc  in  heading  a  subscription  for  a  sick  actress.  New 
costumes  had  been  necessary  for  the  new  opera,  and  as  those 
who  are  engaged  in  preparing  such,  are  ever  most  extravagant 
in  their  demands,  Beatrice's  bills,  which  were  almost  due,  were 
enormous ;  and  although  her  credit  was  good,  as  she  viewed  all 
debt  with  abhorrence,  the  thought  of  not  being  able  to  meet 
their  demands  greatly  perplexed  her.  Then,  Beatrice  was  keen- 
ly sensitive,  and  the  idea  of  having  been  the  recipient  of  harsh 
words  and  angry  tones  from  the  lessee,  and  lastly  expelled, 
seemed  more  than  she  could  bear,  and  she  gave  herself  over  to 
despondency.  In  her  day-dreams  she  had  delighted  to  picture 
herself  again  in  America  to  surprise  the  fond  Herbert  with  her 
presence,  and  obtaining  his  ready  forgiveness  for  her  caprice 
and  indifference,  take  up  her  abode  with  him,  never  again  to 
part.  And  she  thought  of  the  Baron,  from  whose  sympathy 
and  protection  she  had  exiled  herself,  through  the  erroneous 
ideas  of  a  foolish  old  woman,  while,  when  she  had  the  means  to 
refund  what  he  had  so  generously  bestowed,  she  knew  not  where 
to  address  him.  She  had  now  given  up  all  hope  of  ever  finding 
her  relatives,  and  the  whole  preyed  upon  her  mind  ;  in  vain  she 
sought  to  relieve  the  aching  heart.  She  begged  to  be  alone  ; 
they  left  her  to  herself,  but  what  was  their  dismay  when  upon 
entering  her  room  the  following  day,  they  beheld  the  beautiful 
Beatrice,  and  found  that  her  reason  was  gone  ! 

What  was  to  be  done  with  her  ?  Her  maid  had  deserted  her, 
and  she  was  now  wholly  dependent  upon  the  kindness  and  sym- 
pathy of  those  around  her.  For  a  long  time,  those  of  the  house- 
hold where  she  had  remained  ever  since  her  arrival  in  Paris, 
were  most  devoted  to  the  sick  room,  but  as  the  sufferer  grew 
worse,  needing  proper  medical  care  and  constant  attendance, 
they  deemed  it  expedient  to  have  her  removed  to  an  asylum 
devoted  to  persons  of  her  peculiar  malady  ;  for  sometimes  she 
would  insist  upon  rising,  and  feeble  as  she  was,  would  make 
every  exertion  to  dress  for  the  stage,  saying,  "  Do  please  help 
me,  for  I  must  go,  its   getting  late  ;  and  if  I   rehearse  to-day, 


a  spinster's  story.  331 

he'll  not  require  me  to  be  there  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow  is 
the  Sabbath.     Do  please  assist  me,  or  I  shall  have  to  resign !  " 

"Fur  whom  has  that  carriage  been  so  long  waiting?"  in- 
quired a  gentleman,  as  he  stood  upon  the  steps  of  the  house 
adjacent  to  that  which  was  about  to  lose  the  presence  of  the 
young  artiste. 

"  Oh,  it's  to  convey  that  poor  young  actress  to  the  asylum." 

"  All,  I  heard  there  was  such  a  distressing  case  in  our  vicin- 
ity, who  is  she,  please?  " 

"  Oh,  the  same  young  lady  who  made  such  a  sensation  a  short 
time  ago.     Sauvestre  is  her  name,  yes,  Mademoiselle  Sauvestre." 

"  What,  Beatrice  ?  Beatrice  Sauvestre  ?  and  has  she  become 
an  actress  ?  Doubtless  it  is  the  same,  I  must  see  her,  I  am  an 
old  acquaintance." 

He  was  soon  in  the  next  house  making  inquiries  of  the  host- 
ess concerning  the  invalid,  and  after  hearing  a  few  particulars 
of  her  history,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  if  she  could  know  me,  I'm  sure 
she  would  be  glad  to  see  me." 

"  All,  but  she  is  too  ill,  sir,  and  can  recognize  no  one  ;  be- 
sides, what  would  it  avail  ?  She  must  be  taken  away  without  de- 
lay." 

"  But,  Madame,  not  as  a  pauper  !  Fancy  the  beautiful,  the 
delicate  Beatrice  at  the  mercy  of  those  hard-hearted  keepers. 
Oh  no  !  if  my  purse  is  of  any  avail,  pray  don't  let  her  go  as  a 
pauper !  " 

"Well,  but  it's  all  duly  arranged,"  replied  the  lady,  hesi- 
tatingly, "  and  the  authorities  have  sent  for  her." 

"  No  matter,  I'll  send  the  vehicle  away,  and  take  the  affair 
into  my  own  hands. 

"What  now,  Oscar?"  inquired  a  companion,  as  he  saw 
him  hastily  descending  the  steps. 

"  Oh,  nothing ;  I  will  join  you  in  an  hour." 

Twenty  days  remained  as  a  blank  to  the  life  of  Beatrice. 
At  last  reason  returned,  and  declaring  herself  to  be  quite  re- 
covered, she  bested  to  be  released  from  her  confinement,  which 

'  DO  ^  ' 

she  was  told  was  a  hospital  for  convalescent  invalids  ;  but  al- 
though rapidly  recovering  she  was  still  very  weak,  and  her  phy- 
sicians pronounced  her  unfit  to  leave  the  asylum. 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  are  better  to-day,"  said  a  nurse  who 
had  devoted  herself  to  the  care  of  the  young  prima  donna. 
This  morning  she  wished  to  gain  a  full  view  of  Beatrice  in  a 
good  light,  and  going  to  the  window  continued,  "  Do  come  and 
look  at  these  flowers,  I  never  saw  colors  so  exquisite  before." 


332  a  spinster's  story. 

Beatrice  eagerly  ran  to  the  window,  and  placing  herself  in 
front  of  ber,  with  ;i  firm  and  steady  gaze,  the  woman  peered 
:i  1  earn  sstly  into  those  full,  dark  eyes,  that  were  now 
riveted  upon  the  flowers  below.  "  Yes;  you  are  decidedly  bet- 
ter, anl  now  if  you  will  promise  to  keep  perfectly  quiet,  I  will 
take  you  down  stairs  to  receive  a  visitor  who  has  called  every 
day  to  inquire  after  you.  Come,"  added  she,  taking  her  by 
the  hand. 

At  first  Beatrice  shrunk  timorously  from  her,  but  soon  suffer- 
ed herself  to  bo  led  away,  for  during  the  brief  period  she  had 
remained  there,  she  bad  experienced  sufficient  at  the  hands  of 
these  nurses,  to  remember  they  must  be  obeyed  ;  and  she  fol- 
lowed her  guide  info  an  ante-room  where  stood,  ready  to  receive 
her,  the  old  friend  and  benefactor,  Oscar,  the  baron,  whom  she 
had  formerly  mistaken  for  the  tailor  of  Bremen.  The  woman 
left  them,  but  took  her  station  near  the  open  door,  where  she 
could  hear  all  that  passed,  lest  she  should  be  wanted.  The 
great  surprise,  in  her  present  feeble  state,  was  too  much  for 
Beatrice,  and  she  was  unable  to  control  her  tears.  But  her 
compassionate  friend  well  understood  the  weakness  under  which 
she  was  laboring,  and  drawing  her  to  a  seat,  would  not  allow 
her  to  talk,  while  he  recounted  his  disappointment  at  finding 
her  gone  from  the  strange  old  woman  in  Bremen,  his  anxiety 
for  her  safety,  and  lastly,  the  singular  mode  in  which  he  dis- 
covered his  lost  Beatrice. 

"  All,  I  know  now  it  is  to  you  alone  that  T  am  indebted  for 
all  this  care  !  I  know  now  what  has  been  ailing  me  and  what 
kind  of  institution  this  is,  and  I  am  thankful  to  the  merciful 
Providence  that  has  watched  over  me,  but  what  can  I  say  to 
you  ?  " 

"  Beatrice,  you  have  forgotten  what  a  bright  halo  of  happi- 
ness your  society  has  thrown  over  my  weary  life.  I  have  con- 
fesse  1  to  you  that  since  I  lost  a  cherished  idol,  I  have  wandered 
in  quest  of  something  to  divert  me,  and  just  as  the  thick  clouds 
of  gloomy  ennui  were  enveloping  me  in  wretchedness,  you  were 
sent  to  me  ;  and  in  thinking  of  you,  in  my  anxiety  for  your  wel- 
fare, I  was  completely  drawn  out  of  myself,  and  while  in  your 
company,  forgot  that  1  was  miserable  ;  and  Beatrice,  as  long  as 
yon  are  not  surrounded  by  those  who  have  a  greater  claim,  you 
will  not  deny  me  this  pleasure?  " 

"Oh,  I  have  longed  to  see  you,  and  cannot  find  words  to 
express  half  I  feel  towards  you.  But  why  may  I  not  leave  this 
prison-house  ?  I  am  well  now,  my  voice  is  as  strong  as  ever  ;  oh, 
I  cannot  let  you  go  without  me  —  take  me  with  you  — I  am 


a  spinster's  stoey.  333 

quite  able  to  sins;  again  —  oh  don't  leave  me  here  any  longer. 
I  sometimes  hear  the  cries  of  those  around  me,  I  would  fly  to 
console  them,  to  pray  with  them,  but  my  door  is  barred, —  I  can- 
not roach  them,  and  oh,  how  dreadful  is  the  thought  that  they 
must  suffer  without  a  friend  !  " 

"  Beatrice,  I  see  this  is  no  place  for  you  ;  now  that  you  are  so 
far  recovered,  you  shall  remain  here  no  longer.  You  shall  leave 
with  me  to-day." 

They  did  so ;  and  in  an  ecstacy  of  delight,  with  many  tears 
for  the  poor  inmates  she  was  leaving  behind,  Beatrice  bade 
adieu  to  her  prison,  and  set  out  with  her  companion  for  Paris. 

No  sooner  was  the  arrival  of  the  young  prima  donna  an- 
nounced, than  her  services  were  earnestly  solicited  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  season,  and  scarcely  allowing  herself  time  to  re- 
gain her  strength,  she  engaged  herself  to  the  same  lessee,  who 
declared  they  would  never  rehearse  on  the  Sabbath,  and  soon, 
except  that  she  was  paler  and  thinner,  she  was  again  the  same 
Beatrice  as  ever. 

The  following  winter  she  performed  for  the  first  time  in  Ber- 
lin, and  had  accepted  an  engagement  in  London,  when  a  pain- 
ful circumstance  robbed  her  of  her  buoyancy,  and  finally  ren- 
dered her  very  unhappy. 

The  Baron  had  accompanied  her  to  Berlin,  bad  remained  at 
the  same  hotel,  had  guarded  her  inter's^  ,  ]10)1  per  been  ready 
to  officiate  as  secretary,  counsellor.^rf10*  l,  as  <;l «  <••'.,<"  ^ijeh-cL. 
Now,  popular,  and  a  general  favonie'ainong  her  fellow  artists  as 
Beatrice  was,  still  there  were  tliose  who  envied  her  talent,  and 
were  ever  on  the  alert  for  an  opportunity  to  cast  their  weapon 
of  subtlety  and  malice  upon  her.  They  knew  the  young  Oscar 
to  be  no  relative,  and  circulated  the  report  that  his  attachment 
to  the  young  prima  donna  rendered  them  inseparable,  and  were 
not  content  until  they  had  placed  at  stake  not  only  the  prudence 
but  also  the  virtue  of  Beatrice.  At  last,  driven  to  despair  at 
finding  herself  the  subject  of  such  reports,  she  determined  to 
fly  from  his  presence,  and  see  him  no  more.  It  was  a  decision 
that  had  cost  her  much,  for  she  had  learned  to  regard  the  Baron 
as  a  friend  and  a  brother;  and  as  a  counsellor  and  protector, 
had  looked  up  to  him  when  she  had  no  one  else  to  advise  ;  still 
she  resolved  to  fly  by  taking  a  night  train  and  starting  for  Lou- 
don while  he  slept  calmly,  unconscious  of  her  intention.  "  And 
what  will  he  think  of  me?"  But  she  cast  away  the  thought, 
for  it  made  her  hesitate,  and  falter.  It  was  evening,  leaving 
her  room,  she  sought  the  Baron,  and  bade  him  good  night,  saj  - 
iug  she  wished  to  retire  early.     She  took  the  hand  within  her 


334  a  spnrsTBB's  story. 

own,  and  looking  into  his  face,  was  silent.  He  regarded  her 
attentively  for  a  few  moments,  then  smiled,  took  up  his  paper, 
and  appeared  indifferent  ;  kneeling  beside  hitn  sue  lavished 
upon  him  the  praises  and  gratitude  she  could  not  withhold;  then 
tearing  herself  from  his  presence,  flew  to  prepare  her  departure. 
Bui  the  Baron  had  studied  Beatrice  too  well  not  to  notice  some- 
thing unusual  troubled  her.  To  guard  and  protect  this  lovely 
young  creature,  was  now  the  great  object  of  his  existence  ;  ho 
looked  upon  it  as  his  peculiar  mission,  and  sought  in  performing 
this  duty,  to  forget  in  a  measure  his  own  misfortunes,  and  com- 
plete it  to  the  end,  as  something  his  loved  and  lost  one  would 
have  wished,  had  she  known  the  fate  of  the  beautiful  Beatrice. 
For  some  time  he  listened  attentively;  at  last  he  heard  footsteps 
upon  the  floor  of  her  room.  Presently  her  door  opened,  and  Be- 
atrice, accompanied  by  her  maid,  moved  stealthily  over  the 
threshold.  Instantly  he  placed  himself  before  her,  and  draw- 
ing her  into  an  ante-room,  said  in  a  firm  voice,  "Beatrice,  tell 
me,  would  you  allow  the  slander  of  your  enemies  to  banish  you 
from'your  friends  ?  I  know  you  think  to  shield  me  from  cen- 
sure by  thus  tearing  yourself  from  me,  but  Beatrice,  are  you 
not  wanting  in  discrimination  V  Are  you  not  wrong  to  suffer 
the  malicious  designs  of  your  false  friends  to  thwart  you,  and 
make  us  wretched  ?  When  you  knew  these  reports  to  be  false, 
that  we  are  inrtcd  J3?  oa  'hese  charges,  that  we  can  face  the 
wci-ld  aciny  mo"-*mt  ana  ^"fess  without  a  blush  all  that  has 
ever  passed  between  us,  when"  we  know  we  are  right  in  the  sight 
of  heaven,  tell  me,  Beatrice,  are  you  not  wrong  to  regard  these 
false  reports  ?  Fling  them  away  as  nothing.  Have  a  greater  and 
higher  respect  for  your  own  honorable  principles,  and  never 
suffer  them  to  trouble  you  again  Go,  Beatrice,  and  rest  until 
the  morning,  then  we  will  start  for  London  together." 

She  had  turned  from  him,  and  her  eyes  were  cast  upon  the 
floor ;  for  a  moment  she  was  silent,  then  with  one  of  her  sweet 
smiles  she  placed  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  said,  "  You 
are  right,  and  you  have  conquered." 

It  was  early  in  February,  and  that  massive  building  near 
Marseilles,  known  as  the  habitation  of  the  deranged,  wore  a 
somewhat  more  rigid  appearance  in  its  mantle  of  snow  than 
when  the  green  verdure  and  thick  foliage  obscured  the  high 
stone  wall  that  surrounded  these  gloomy  confines. 

At  a  certain  hour  of  the  day  might  be  seen,  at  one  of  the  win- 
dows, a  sweet  face,  which,  though  it  wore  a  pensive  expression, 
could  not  fail  to  inspire  the  gazer  with  thoughts  of  the  beautiful ; 


a  spinster's  stout.  335 

sometimes  the  casement  was  opened,  and  a  soft,  plaintive  air  was 

wafted  on  the  breeze.  To  those  who  had  known  her  previously, 
the  face  and  voice  recalled  many  an  association,  as  they  recog- 
nized in  her  the  talented  Beatrice,  the  favorite  prima  donna  of 
the  day.  The  baron  had  escorted  her  to  London,  where  she  was 
enthusiastically  received  by  the  crowds  of  applauding  auditors  ; 
thence,  on  her  way  to  Paris,  she  had  appeared  at  several  other 
cities,  where  she  was  attended  with  equal  success ;  but  the 
buoyant  spirits  of  the  young  artiste  did  not  rally,  and  yet  though 
too  languid  for  any  exertion,  she  expressed  her  desire  to  join  a 
troupe  about  to  leave  for  the  shores  of  America.  Unwilling  to 
disclose  to  the  baron  the  true  reason  for  wishing  to  go,  he  be- 
lieved it  merely  the  desire  for  a  change,  and  proposed  a  circuit 
in  another  direction.  Her  hope  of  meeting  Herbert  was  now 
crushed.  She  grew  thinner  and  paler,  and  one  morning  they 
found  her  quite  unconscious.  Though  melancholy  and  perfectly 
harmless,  she  needed  the  constant  care  of  those  accustomed  to 
the  treatment  of  her  malady,  and  had  been  removed  to  the  asy- 
lum where  they  were  already  acquainted  with  the  in  vain  1. 

Beatrice  was  now  quite  recovered  from  the  temporary  insanity 
under  which  she  had  been  laboring,  but  as  she  still  required 
medical  care,  it  was  deemed  best  for  her  to  remain  a  short  time 
longer. 

'•  Paulina,  who  are  those  persons  in  the  other  part  of  the 
building?  "  said  Beatrice,  one  morning,  to  the  woman  who  at- 
tended her. 

"  Oh,  Mademoiselle,  those  are  some  poor  women  who  have 
no  friends  to  pay  for  their  support ;  they  are  the  paupers,  and 
we  keep  them  in  a  part  by  themselves." 

*'  No  friends  !  "  repeated  Beatrice  emphatically,  "  but  why 
will  not  some  one  go  and  be  a  friend  to  them  ?  How  lonely 
and  dejected  some  of  them  look  !  Why  did  you  not  tell  me 
of  them  before?  I  would  talk  with  them,  sing  to  them,  and 
amuse  them.     They  are  perfectly  harmless,  aren't  they  ? 

"  Oh,  yes,  there's  nothing  to  fear  from  them.  Whenever 
you  wish,  you  may  go  to  them,  but  you'll  soon  get  tired  and 
want  to  come  back  to  your  own  rooms." 

''Good,  kind  Paulina,  a  thousand  thanks!  Oh,  indeed,  I 
shall  never  be  tired  if  I  can  do  them  any  kindness.  Now  I 
am  ready,  please  show  me  the  way." 

The  place  in  which  these  poor  creatures  were  gathered,  was  a 
sort  of  conservatory  or  extension  room,  built  of  iron  and  glass, 
which  they  occupied  when  the  weather  would  not  admit  them 
into  the.  grounds.     In  one  corner  was  a  group  of  three,  appar- 


336  a  spixster's  story. 

ently  conversing  very  confidentially  ;  a  little  further  on  was  a 
mid  die -age  I  woman  very  fantastically  attired,  wearing  a  turban 
of  blue  and  red  flannel.  A-  Beatrice  approached,  she  arose,  and 
taking  her  band,  said  in  a  faint  voice,  '"My  dear,  I  am  the  Queen 
of  Naples,  and  intend  to  go  home  to  my  country  next  week, 
then  I'll  take  you  with  me,  and  you  will  be  my  daughter,  wont 
you,  for  I've  lost  mine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Madame,''  said  Beatrice,  returning  the  caress  with 
a  sigh,  "  next  week  I  will  go  with  you,  good-by  till  then."  To- 
wards the  centre  was  a  table  around  which  some  half-dozen 
were  seated.  Two  of  them  arose  as  Beatrice  drew  near,  and 
one  exclaimed,  as  she  made  a  low  courtesy,  "  Here  comes  tho 
Queen  of  Shcba,  we  must  all  rise  to  meet  her  ! 

Beatrice  took  the-  hand  of  each  who  came  up  to  her  ;  some 
were  busily  employed  with  needlework,  while  others  sat  per- 
fectly inanimate.  Several  began  to  ask  Beatrice  a  number  of 
questions,  and  having  given  her  the  most  comfortable  seat  they 
possessed,  commenced  to  acquaint  her  with  their  different  his- 
tories, which  were  a  strange  medley  of  incidents,  and  accord- 
ing to  these  statements,  several  had  been  the  wives  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  ;  one  said  she  was  the  sister  of  Marshal  Ney,  while 
an  old  lady  was  disputing  with  a  girl  who  appeared  scarcely 
seventeen,  about  being  Joan  of  Arc.  But  Beatrice  did  not 
attend  to  all  that  was  said,  for  although  they  often  drew  her 
face  towards  them  to  attract  her  attention,  her  eyes  were  con- 
tinually falling  upon  one  who  appeared  more  interesting  than 
the  rest.  She  was  rather  small,  and  very  thin,  probably  about 
twenty  ;  the  eyes  were  a  jet  black,  exceedingly  bright  and  ex- 
pressive, while  the  long,  glossy  tresses  contrasted  greatly  with 
the  pale  face  that  was  bent  over  a  beautiful  infant,  which  ap- 
peared scarcely  a  month  old,  resting  on  her  knee. 

"  Oh,  you  wish  to  know  who  that  young  lady  is?  "  exclaim- 
ed one  of  the  women,  noticing  her  eyes  were  riveted  upon  the 
infant.  "  Come,  and  we'll  introduce  you,"  rising  and  leading 
her  towards  the  mother  and  child,  she  is  the  Madonna,  the  Vir- 
gin Mary." 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  quickly  responded  the  girl,  for  a  moment 
raising  her  eyes  from  the  infant.     "  My  name  is  Gates." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  are  mistaken,"  interposed  a  young  wo- 
man, "  I  knew  you  when  you  were  an  infant,  and  your  name 
has  a  very  different  sound." 

"  Please  'do  not  believe  them,  what  I  say  is  true,"  said  the 
young  girl  looking  beseechingly  at  Beatrice,  while  she  pressed 
the  infant  still  closer  to  her  bosom.  Then  finding  she  was  again 
contradicted  by  several,  she  buried  her  face  in  the  clothes  of  the 


A    SPINS THIi's    STOUY.  337 

babe,  and  burst  into  tears.  A  gong  was  now  sounded,  and  in  a 
few  seconds,  Beatrice  stood  alone  beside  the  mother  and  child. 
The  poor  girl  continued  weeping,  ottering  several  incoherent 
sentences  in  [talian,  but  as  they  bad  hitherto  spoken  in  French, 
with  which  she  appeared  perfectly  familiar,  Beatrice  addressed 
her  in  that  language. 

"  Why  do  you  feel  so  sad  to-day,  Mademoiselle,  is  there  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

The  tearful  fare  was  raised  to  Beatrice,  and  seizing  her  dress, 
she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  I  know  you  will  listen  to  me,  and  be- 
lieve what  I  say.  Don't  think  me  a  poor  lunatic  like  the  rest 
of  these  people,  I  know  I  did  lose  my  reason  for  a  short  time, 
but  now  I  am  perfectly  sane."  With  a  nervous  grasp  she  still 
held  the  dress  of  Beatrice,  as  though  she  were  afraid  she  would 
not  listen,  and  seeing  how  faint  and  weak  she  was,  Beatrice  of- 
fered to  take  the  infant. 

"  You  are  tired,  let  me  nurse  it  while  you  rest." 

"  Oh,  but  we  wont  disturb  him,  see  how  sweetly  he  sleeps. 
Is  he  not  a  beautiful  boy  ?  Well,  yes,  you  have  such  a  kind 
face,  you  may  take  him,  please,  I'm  sure  you  will  be  careful  of 
him.      Oh  I  am  so  tired  to-day !  " 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  it  seems  to  me  a  very  long  time. 

Let  me  lay  the  baby  upon  this  table,  while  I  go  to  fetch  you 
something,  you  can  watch  him  just  as  well  there." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  could  not!"  jumping  up;  "some  one  might 
come  and  take  him  away,  they  did  once,  but  it  made  me  so  un- 
happy that  they  brought  him  back  to  me." 

'•  Well  then,  rest  your  head  against  this  beam,  for  I  know 
you  are  so  tired,  and  I'll  soon  be  back." 

"  Paulina,  I've  a  favor  to  ask,"  said  Beatrice,  as  she  return- 
ed to  her  rooms,  "  I  want  you  to  let  me  bring  that  poor  young 
lady  and  her  infant  to  stay  here  with  me.  I'm  sure  her  mind 
is  quite  sound,  and  that  is  no  place  for  her ;  the  time  would 
never  seem  long  to  me,  if  she  were  here,  oh,  if  you  refuse  me  I 
shall  be  most  wretched." 

"You  mean  that  Italian  girl,  don't  you?  well,  yes,  I  know 
she  has  had  her  reason  some  time,  but  you  are  not  going  to 
have  any  of  those  people  here,  so,  Mademoiselle,  don't  ask  it." 

Beatrice  sat  down  and  burst  into  tears  ;  then,  as  if  suddenly 
recollecting  something,  she  went  to  a  desk,  and  soou  returning 
to  the  hard-hearted  woman  said,  "  Here  are  twenty  francs,  Pau- 
lina, do  let  them  come,  and  when  I  go  away  I  will  give  you 
something  better." 

15 


338  a  spinster's  stout. 

"  Very  well,  get  them,  and  then  I  suppose  you  will  be 
happy." 

The  day  was  on  the  decline ;  the  golden  orb  had  sunk  into 
the  west,  and  the  Lasl  beam  that  had  glittered  upon  the  snow- 
crested  turrets  of  tbe  asylum  had  passed  away,  Leaving  behind 
unlv  a  remembrance  of  its  transient,  though  glorious  existence. 

Upon  a  sofa  in  Beatrice's  dressing-room,  reclined  the  emaciat- 
ed figure  of  the  Italian  girl;  near  her  upon  some  cushions  lay 
the  infant  in  a  sweet  sleep;  it  was  indeed  a  charming  little 
creature,  resembling  its  mother  in  the  full,  dark  eyes  and  jetty 
locks,  while  the  complexion,  unlike  hers,  was  exceedingly  fair, 
and  bore  no  token  of  a  southern  sky.  Beside  them  sat  Beat- 
rice, watching  with  intense  interest  the  sleepers,  upon  whom  she 
bestowed  her  undivided  attention. 

A  thin,  trembling  hand  parted  the  drapery  that  was  closely 
drawn  round  the  couch  to  keep  away  the  cold  from  the  windows, 
and  bending  forward,  the  fond  young  mother  gazed  long  and 
ardently  upon  the  infant. 

"  How  sweetly  he  sleeps,"  said  she,  as  she  fell  hack  upon 
her  pillows,  "  I  wish  I  could  sleep  as  calmly  ;  but  I  shall  soon, 
for  I  get  weaker  every  day  ;  yes,  before  long  I  shall  be  at 
rest  !  " 

"  Oh,  but  you  may  be  better  in  a  little  while,  take  this 
draught,  you  are  faint."    , 

"  Thanks,  beloved  Beatrice,  now  wont  you  please  open  that 
blind,  and  assist  me  to  rise  that  I  may  look  beyond  those  trees. 
I  fancied  yesterday  I  could  see  the  walls  of  a  building  where  I 
once  lived  ;  thank  you  dearest,  that  will  do,  now  I  can  see. 
Oh  yes,  I  was  right !  that  is  the  house  of  Madame  de  Flo- 
rigni !  " 

"Then  you  have  friends  in  this  vicinity,  would  you  like  me 
to  go  to  them  some  time  for  you  'i  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  friends  !  although  there  is  one  kind,  feeling 
heart  within  those  walls,  but  not  Madame  de  Florigni's,  oh  no; 
if  she  had  been  less  harsh  and  unkind,  I  should  not  have  been 
here  now.  Ah,  little  she  thinks  how  much  she  has  caused  the 
poor  Signorina  Susini  to  suffer." 

"  But,  Madame,  this  is  the  hour  that  kind  physician  is  here, 
the  one  whom  we  like  so  much ;  let  me  ask  him  to  come  and 
prescribe  for  you." 

"  No,  thank  you,  no  one  can  do  me  any  good,  I  feel  I  cannot 
last  long,  and  I've  no  wish  to  live  but  for  my  child.  What 
will  become  of  it'?  "  and  she  burst  into  tears. 


a  spixstek's  story.  339 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  think  about  that,  if  no  one  else  claims  it,  I 
will  take  care  of  it,  and  you  will  trust  me,  wont  you?  " 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  are  so  very  kind,  but  I  would  have  its 
father  see  it ;  I  think,  could  he  once  look  upon  that  sweet  little 
face,  he  could  not  but  love  it,  even  if  he  cares  nothing  for  me. 
Oh,  if  he  were  only  here  for  a  moment,  how  much  easier  it 
would  be  to  die  !  1  would  have  him  know  of  the  poverty,  the 
wretchedness,  the  suffering  1  have  borne  since  I  saw  him.  But 
don't  think  him  so  very  much  to  blame, — indeed,  had  it  not  been 
for  that  cruel  Madame  de  Elorigni,  I  might  have  been  with  him 
now,  and  not  scorned  and  scoffed  by  these  hard-hearted  nurses 
as  though  I  were  one  to  be  despised.     I  will  tell  you  all," — 

"  But  do  wait  a  little  while,  I'm  afraid  you  will  be  exhausted." 

''Oh.no,  don't  hinder  me  ;  let  me  tell  you  while  I  have 
strength,  and  he  may  not  sleep  so  soundly  to-morrow.  I  believe 
you  know  I  am  a  Neapolitan  ;  I  left  Italy  with  an  English  fam- 
ily, to  instruct  a  little  girl  in  my  language.  They  lived  at 
Brighton,  and  it  was  at  that  place  I  first  met  my  husband.  I 
was  then  sixteen,  he  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  British  navy,  and 
soon  after  we  became  acquainted  his  vessel  was  ordered  away, 
and  we  were  obliged  to  part  for  two  years.  Having  no  one  else 
who  appeared  to  care  for  me,  I  had  become  much  attached  to 
him,  and  his  departure  made  me  very  miserable  ;  however,  we 
corresponded,  and  for  the  first  six  months  he  answered  my  letters. 

Soon,  the  death  of  my  little  pupil  rendered  me  of  no  service 
to  the  family,  and  I  was  thrown  on  my  own  resources.  In  my 
wanderings  I  met  Madame  de  Florigni,  who  offered  me  a  home 
in  her  school,  and  I  returned  there  with  her.  Last  spring  as  I 
was  one  evening  accompaning  several  of  the  teachers  for  a  walk, 
I  met  the  lieutenant.  I  had  heard  nothing  of  him  for  a  year 
and  a  half,  but  as  I  reproached  him  for  his  neglect,  he  assured 
me  he  had  received  very  few  of  my  letters,  and  that  he  had 
longed  to  see  me  again.  He  proposed  that  we  should  be  mar- 
ried without  further  delay,  and  leave  for  London  where  his 
friends  resided  ;  accordingly,!  left  Madame's  and  joined  him  in 
Marseilles.  He  expressed  his  wish  to  arrive  in  London  before 
I  being  married,  as  he  was  a  Protestant  ;  but  I  insisted  upon  his 
keeping  his  promise  or  I  would  not  accompany  him.  At  last  he 
yielded  to  my  tears  and  entreaties,  and  towards  evening  we 
reached  a  little  chapel  hewn  out  of  the  cliff  of  a  rock,  upon  the 
water's  edge.  It  was  a  truly  romantic  little  spot,  and  the  white 
headed  priest  as  he  emerged  from  his  cloister  to  welcome  us, 
was  well  suited  to  my  fancy,  and  I  thought  a  union  formed  in 
such  a  solemn  little  place  must  prove  a  happy  one. 


340  a  spinster's  story. 

We  were  married,  and  received  the  father's  blessing.  As  we 
neared  the  eity,  which  was  aboul  a  mile  distant,  I  noticed  ho 
was  Bilent  and  thoughtful.  Asking  the  cause,  he  informed  me 
that  he  desired  to  go  to  Avignon  to  remain  a  short  time,  while 
he  wrote  to  his  fri  snds  to  prepare  them  for  my  reception.  We 
did  so,  but  after  we  had  been  there  some  time,  he  said  he  must 
go  tn  hia  friends  alone,  and  endeavor  to  reconcile  them  to  liis 
marriage,  tie  went,  [  saw  no  more  of  him,  but  heard  he  had 
joined  his  vessel  and  gone  up  the  Mediterranean.  I  could  not 
realize  that  he  would  not  shortly  return  to  me,  and  would  anx- 
iously await  the  return  of  the  dawn,  expecting  each  day  would 
bring  him  back.  L  wrote  tn  him  constantly,  but  received  no 
answer,  and  at  last,  my  resources  exhausted,  I  returned  to  the 
school  of  .Madame  de  Florigni.  My  mind  must  have  been  in  a 
very  perturbed  state,  for  1  was  often  accused  of  things  I  knew 
nothing  of;  'me  thought,  a  sort  of  instinctive  idea  haunted  me, 
and  buoyed  up  my  spirits  from  day  to  day  —  that  he  was  in 
France  seeking  me,  and  that  1  must  fly  to  him.  The  time  wore 
on,  sometimes  wretched  to  melancholy  and  despair,  at  others 
goaded  almost  to  madness.  I  neglected  my  duties,  and  became, 
what  L  never  was  before  —  a  somnambulist.  But  Madame 
would  not  believe  this,  and  reproaching  me  for  intrigue  and  de- 
ception, she  turned  me  from  her  roof.  Knowing  that  should  he 
write  to  me,  the  letters  would  be  addressed  to  her  residence, 
1  besought  her  in  their  behalf,  but  she  only  spurned  me  from 
her.  Perhaps,  could  I  have  told  my  tale  of  woe  to  her,  she 
might  have  pitied  me  ;  but  during  the  first  four  or  five  months 
of  my  stay  with  her,  she  had  assembled  us  every  week,  while 
she  delivered  a  sort  of  lecture  upon  the  folly  of  marriage,  view- 
ing it  as  a  state  of  servitude  and  suffering,  into  which  no  digni- 
fied and  high-minded  woman  would  ever  enter.  In  a.  pure  and 
ardent  love  she  did  not  believe,  declaring  that  if  we  did  not 
mortify  all  such  affections,  we  should  never  be  worthy  of  a 
holierand  happier  existence.  The  more  wretched  I  became,  the 
more  willing  L  was  to  agree  with  her,  but  could  not  bring  my- 
self to  an  acknowledgment  of  the  truth,  knowing  she  would  only 
despise  me  for  my  folly.  She  requested  me  to  leave  her  with- 
out further  delay!  There  was  a  violent  storm  at  the  time,  and  I 
besought  her  to  let  me  remain  until  the  morrow,  but  she  re- 
fused. T  left  her.  [  know  no  more,  except  that  I  went  from 
her  door,  unconscious  of  everything  but  suffering,  to  which  I 
was  fully  sensible  ;  and  when  that  awful  blank  to  my  life  was 
ended,  I  awoke  to  find  myself  in  the  asylum." 

The  eyelids  dropped  again,  the  color  faded  from  the  lips,  and 


a  spinster's  story.  341 

finding  she  had  fainted,  .and  could  not  be  readily  restored,  Be- 
atrice went  for  a  physician  who  was  then  in  attendance,  and 
having  pleaded  earnestly,  at  last  he  accompanied  her  to  the 
chamber  of  the  invalid.  Bending  over  the  couch,  the  aged 
man  gazed  upon  the  marble  countenance,  and  heaving  a  deep 
sigh,  in  a  low,  sad  tone  murmured,  ''  What  a  wreck  of  the 
young  and  the  beautiful  !  "  Then  turning  away,  shook  his 
head,  saying,  "  It's  a  sad  fate,  but  nothing  can  be  done.  Good- 
evening." 

Beatrice  watched  beside  the  couch  until  past  midnight,  the 
infant  had  been  removed  from  the  chamber,  that  the  last  mo- 
ments of  the  dying  young  mother  might  not  be  disturbed. 
For  several  hours  she  had  tranquilly  slept,  and  with  the  in- 
tensest  anxiety  Beatrice  awaited  a  waking  hour,  that  she  might 
speak  to  her  of  the  welfare  of  her  soul.  Towards  the  dawn  of 
the  morning,  the  dark  eyes  opened,  and  finding  she  was  fully 
conscious,  Beatrice  broached  the  important  subject.  Finding 
her  hope  centered  in  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  desirous  only  for  the 
absolution  of  a  priest,  she  read  to  her  those  portions  of  the  New 
Testament  which  declare  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  to  be  the  only 
Mediator  and  Advocate,  exhorting  her  to  pray  only  to  the  Tri- 
une God,  as  the  Holy  Scriptures  direct,  by  which,  through  the 
precious  promises,  we  can  alone  attain  everlasting  life  ;  and  to- 
gether, in  the  fervency  of  the  spirit,  she  prayed  that  the  eyes 
of  the  dying  girl  might  be  opened,  and  her  soul  received  into 
the  mansions  of  the  blessed. 

"  There  is  near  here  a  man  of  God,  who  can  speak  more  ably 
to  you  than  I  can,"  said  Beatrice,  as  she  administered  a  restora- 
tive to  the  sufferer. 

"  Is  he  a  priest  of  the  Romish  Church?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  No  —  but  dearest,  would  that  avail  anything,  if  he  can 
point  you  to  a  reconciliation  with  God,  through  the  merits  of 
His  Son  —  if  he  can  tell  you  that  the  great  work  of  your  soul's 
redemption  is  already  accomplished,  that  you  have  only  to  be- 
lieve, and  nothing  to  fear  for  the  future,  does  it  matter  by  what 
name  he  is  called?  " 

"  No  —  Beatrice  — beloved  one  ;  you  are  right,  I  know  your 
faith  has  been  a  comfort  to  you  in  the  hour  of  trial,  I  would 
gladly  embrace  the  same  faith,  the  same  hope  ;  yes,  I  will  see 
him  without  delay." 

For  two  days  the  daughter  of  La  Bella  Italia,  lingered  be- 
tween life  and  death,  and  fancying  she  appeared  to  rally,  Beat- 
rice asked  whether  she  would  like  her  to  go  to  Madame  de  Flo- 


34'2  a  spixster's  story. 

rigni,  and  inquire  if  there  had  been  any  letters  or  visitors  for 
her. 

"  Oh,  nn  ;  "  was  the  faint  response,  "  I  like  to  fancy  he  lias 
inquired  for  me,  and  should  you  go,  I  fear  I  should  he  obliged 
to  believe  the  painful  reality  of  the  contrary." 

Ii apliance  with   her  earnest  request,  the   infant  had  been 

brought,  and  laid  in  her  arms.  Grazing  upon  it  in  all  the  ful- 
ness  of  a  young  mother's  love,  she  remained  some  time  silent, 
Watching  the  low  breathing  of  the  little  sleeper ;  then  looking 
up,  said,  as  her  tears  started,  "  Dear  Beatrice,  there's  but  one 
thing  in  this  wide  world  I  can  leave  my  child  as  a  relic  of  his 
mother,  and  although  it  is  nothing  in  itself,  to  me  it  is  almost 
sacred,  and  before  I  die,  I  should  like  to  look  at  it  once  again. 
I've  not  seen  it  for  many  months,  but  I  have  a  recollection  of 
concealing  it  in  the  lining  of  that  dress,  please  get  it  for  me 
while  my  sight  lasts." 

It  was  a  paper  carefully  sewed  up  in  oil-skin,  and  proved  to 
be  the  certificate  of  her  marriage. 

"  Beatrice,  please  tell  me  the  day  of  the  month  ?  " 

"  Today  is  the  first  of  February." 

"  Then  yesterday  I  was  nineteen  !  "  looking  into  vacancy,  as 
though  recalling  the  past.  "  Oh,  that  I  could  have  died  in 
Italy,  and  been  buried  by  the  grave  of  my  mother  !  '" 

"  But  not  those  tears,  dearest,  you  are  not  unhappy  any  more  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  it  was  a  moment  of  weakness,  it  matters  not  where 
my  body  lies,  my  soul  will  be  at  rest." 

"  See,  love,  here  is  some  jewel  wrapped  up  in  this  parcel. 
Look,  a  necklace,  shall  I  keep  it  for  your  child  V  " 

The  sufferer  endeavored  to  rise  to  see  it  more  perfectly,  but 
sinking  bade,  pressed  her  emaciated  hand  to  her  head,  and  ex- 
aminiog  it  closely,  answered,  "  Oh,  I  have  some  faint  recollection 
of  seeing  it  before,  but  where.  I  know  not  ;  could  it  be  that  in  my 
hours  of  unconsciousness  I  have  dispossessed  some  one  of  it  *? 
Oh,  dreadful  !  " 

"  Hush !  think  no  more  of  it,  we  are  not  accountable  for 
anything  we  do  in  such  a  moment." 

Finding  her  no  longer  conscious,  Beatrice  turned  for  a  re- 
storative,  when  the  altered  voice  of  the  invalid  cried, 

"  Take  him  —  I  cannot  hold  him  —  oh,  Beatrice  — I'm  fall- 
ing !  " 

A  change  came  over  her  ;  clasping  her  thin  arms  round  Be- 
atrice, she  said  in  words  that  were  scarcely  audible,  "  I  wish  I 
knew  whether  lie  were  living  or  dead." 

"  You  mean  your  husband.  I  have  written,  and  hear  he  is 
living  ;  shall  I  write  again  '!  " 


A    SPINSTBS'S    STOIIY.  843 

"  Yes  —  when  I  am  gone  —  that  is  all —  Beatrice,  my  faith- 
ful friend  —  good-ny  ! 

With  a  firm  pressure  she  retained  the  hand  of  Beatrice  until 
the  icy  touch  told  her  moments  were  numbered.  All  doubt  as 
to  her  eternal  welfare  was  removed  from  the  mind  of  her  friend, 
who  in  her  constant  vigil  over  the  sufferer,  had  witnessed  the 
growth  of  a  sure  and  steadfast  faith  in  Him  who  alone  can  save. 

The  morrow's  sun  rose  not  for  that  fair  daughter  of  Italy, 
and  ere  her  remains  were  entombed,  the  babe  was  laid  upon  the 
bosom  of  its  mother,  and  lowered  beneath  the  green  sod,  to 
await  the  morn  of  the  resurrection. 

Beatrice's  term  of  imprisonment  ended,  she  again  repaired  to 
Berlin.  But  grateful  as  she  was  for  the  reception  that  ever 
awaited  her,  it  could  not  afford  her  the  gratification  and  pleas- 
ure her  friends  anticipated, —  such  could  not  satisfy  the  yearnings 
of  her  soul.  Her  experience  with  the  world,  had  developed 
those  sensibilities,  which  her  previous  life  of  comparative  inac- 
tion had  permitted  to  lie  dormant  ;  her  passions  awakened  to 
their  full  power,  her  keen  susceptibility  alive  to  every  impress, 
she  turned  with  disgust  from  the  admiring  throng,  and  repined 
as  she  pictured  to  her  fancy  the  humble  cot  where  the  love  and 
sympathy  of  kindred  hearts  are  riches  the  world  without  cannot 
give.  Those  who  were  still  envious  of  her  success,  continued 
to  throw  their  taunts  and  reproaches  around  her,  and  now  at  her 
earnest  solicitations,  the  baron  consented  to  leave  her  locality, 
that  his  name  might  no  longer  be  mingled  with  her  own.  He 
was  gone,  and  Beatrice  now  felt  herself  again  alone  in  the  world, 
taking  pleasure  in  but  one  object, —  that  of  bestowing  the  greater 
part  of  her  income  for  the  relief  of  the  poor.  Often  she  longed 
to  relinquish  her  profession  for  a  time,  and  s,eek  a  reprieve 
among  the  simple  and  unsophisticated,  of  the  mountain  regions. 
"But  why  do  you  wish  to  withdraw  from  us?"  her  friends 
.  would  urge,  "  your  health  is  improving,  you  are  best  fitted  for 
an  active  life,  you  take  much  pleasure  in  bestowing  charities, 
and  while  there  is  such  great  need  of  philanthropy,  why  relin- 
quish even  for  a  season  your  life  of  usefulness  ?  " 

Though  unknown  to  Beatrice  and  her  circle  of  friends,  the 
night  arrive'!  when  she  was  to  stand  for  the  last  time,  to  re- 
ceive the  plaudits  of  an  admiring  audience. 

But  Beatrice  had  no  need  to  relate  the  rest  of  her  story  to 
the  intent  listeners,  they  were  already  acquainted  with  the 
event  of  the  last  appearance  of  that  favorite  private  prima 
donna. 

"  And   now  I've  something  to  say,"  said  Mrs.  Villiers  when 


,'Al  a  sri.v stick's  stokv. 

Beatrice  had  concluded  her  narrative,  "  You  know,  Lydia,  we've 
often  wondered  at  our  adventure  in  that  house  where  we  found 
our  long  lost  Beatrice.  Well,  after  we  had  secured  our  favor- 
ite here  in  her  new  borne,  1  went  hack  to  ascertain  if  everything 
of  Beatrice's  had  been  brought  away,  merely  for  the  sake  of 
satisfying  my  mind  as  to  the  household  of  that  landlady.  I 
soon  discovered  the  inmates  of  that  house  to  be  of  the  highest 
respectability,  and  that  the  man  who  showed  us  up  that  hack 
staircase  into  that  singular  room,  was  a  poor  idiot,  a  relative  of 
the  landlady's,  who  gave  him  a  home  in  her  dwelling.  So  you 
see  how  much  we  may  suspect  from  appearances." 

Tt  was  evening,  and  Estelle  was  alone  in  the  drawing-room. 
The  baron  who,  after  much  research,  had  at  last  succeeded  in 
discovering  the  residence  of  the  lost  Beatrice,  came  to  make 
inquires  respecting  her.  Estelle  knew  the  voice,  and  ordered 
the  servant  to  usher  him  into  her  presence.  But  what  was  his 
surprise  when,  instead  of  meeting  Beatrice,  he  beheld  before 
him  his  favorite  Estelle.  '  At  first  the  interview  was  embarrass- 
ing and  painful  to  both  ;  but  it  was  soon  exchanged  for  one  of 
mutual  delight.  But  what  was  their  hope?  Fritzine  could  not 
be  found,  a  divorce  could  not  be  obtained,  so  Oscar  and  his 
devoted  Estelle  must  remain  only  as  friends  ;  and  as  such,  they 
knew  the  less  frequently  they  met.  the  better. 

"  Lydia,  I  must  now  return  home,"  said  Estelle,  as  she  came 
to  bid  her  good-by,  "  we  are  to  have  a  masquerade  on  the  fifth, 
will  you  come  'i  " 

"  I  think  not,  love,  but  I  will  call  on  you  soon  after." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  Ohaquo  age  a  ses  plaisirs,  chaque  etat  a  ses  charmes." 

— Delillb. 

"  They  come  !  They  come  !  "Welcome,  thrice  welcome, 
heir  of  La  Belle  !  May  every  bright  anticipation  be  realized  to 
the  full,  and  to  you,  sweet  cousin  Anna,  be  your  beautiful  home 
ever  one  of  happiness  and  peace  !" 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  travellers  arrived  at  their 
destination  in  Berlin  Those  who  had  previously  known  Alfred, 
found  him  as  bright,  intelligent,  and  prepossessing  as  he  had 
ever  promised  to  be,  while  either  the  sea  voyage,  or  her  release 


a  spinster's  story.  345 

from  the  limits  of  Mrs  Gilbert,  had  wrought  a  great  change  in 
Anna,  for  upon  learning  that  it  was  not  to  Lydia  that  Mr.  Ev- 
erett was  engaged,  the  ecstacy  of  delight  beamed  in  smiles  that 
were  never  before  3een  upon  the  countenance  of  the  little  nun 
of  Claremont  Place. 

At  the  usual  hour  the  servants  were  called  in,  and  together 
they  knelt  to  offer  the  evening  sacrifice,  in  which  the  clergyman 
seemed  more  impressive  and  eloquent  than  ever.  Good  night 
had  been  said,  the  dazzling  Beatrice  who  now  appeared  in  the 
midst  of  them  in  her  perfect  health  and  beauty,  had  again 
taken  the  hand  of  the  new  cousins,  and  nearly  all  had  left  the 
room  ;  still  Alfred  turne  I  again  to  take  a  last  look  at  Carlotta. 

Though  in   her  sixteenth  year,  and   tall  of  her  age,  as  she  st 1 

alone  in  the  room  caressing  a  favorite  spaniel,  it  seemed  to  him 
shi'  was  still  what  he  first  styled  her,  fairy-like   Lottie." 

Preparations  for  the  wedding  of  the  favorite  Heatrice  were 
now  engrossing  the  attention  of  the  greater  portion  of  the  house- 
hold ;  and  although  Lydia's  taste  was  constantly  solicited  in 
the  arrangements  of  the  bridemaid's  dresses,  still,  another  object 
occupied  her  thoughts.  Dunne;  that  Ions:  estrangement,  she 
had  not  once  seen  Clarence.  As  she  was  not  expected  at  the 
masquerade,  she  could  attend  without  fear  of  recognition,  and 
view  once  again  the  same  figure,  hear  the  same  voice,  and  no- 
tice  to  what  extent  he  appeared  to  participate  in  the  gaiety  of 
the  evening ;  and  although  she  reproached  herself  for  still 
cherishing  the  memory  of  one  so  unworthy,  she  had  no  wish  to 
deny  herself  in  this  respect ;  so  with  Alfred  as  an  escort,  she 
would  go  to  the  ball. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  masquerade,  the  spacious  saloons  were 
brilliantly  lighted,  and  one  after  another,  came  the  glittering 
train.  There  entered  the  kings,  queens,  and  princes  of  every 
age,  from  the  time  of  Caesar  to  Frederic  of  Prussia  ;  while  monks, 
priests,  peasants,  and  others,  were  among  the  early  guests. 
Soon  there  entered  a  tall  and  graceful  figure  in  the  garb  of  a 
nun,  her  escort  was  a  knight  in  armor,  who  appeared  in  vain  to 
lavish  his  chivalric  attention  upon  the  silent  recluse,  who  refused 
jto  promenade,  and  retiring  from  the  company,  took  her  seat  in 
u  corner,  where  she  could  have  a  good  view  of  all  who  entered, 
while  none  suspected  the  vivacious,  sprightly  Lydia  could  ever 
appear  under  that  sober  garb.  But  perhaps  there  was  not  an- 
other there  whose  feelings  so  well  accorded  with  that  gloomy 
disguise,  and  as  at  her  bidding  Alfred  moved  on  with  the 
throng,  she  was  left  to  herself  to  watch  every  gentleman  who 
entered.  At  last  he  came  ;  there  could  bo  no  mistake,  though 
15* 


346  a  spinster's  story. 

in  the  disguise  of  fche  pope,  moving  wiili  slow  and  measured 
steps, —  it  was  he,  and  none  other.  He  approached  her,  saluted 
her,  Bhe  made  obeisance  to  him,  he  passed  on  and  was  lost 
among  the  crowd.  The  time  wore  on.  to  Alfred  who  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  it  flitted  rapidly  by,  yet  finding  the 
room  too  warm  for  Lydia,  lie  insisted  upon  her  accompanying 
him  to  a  piazza. 

••  Alfred,"  said  she  in  a  low  tone,  "  who  i.s  that  in  the 
grounds  below,  leaning  against  that  pillar'.''  " 

"  Oh,  that's  the  pope,  have  you  not  had  the  honor  of  seeing 
his  reverence  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him  some  time, ago  ;  and  so  that  is  he?  "  added 
she  in  a  still  lower  tone. 

There  were  footsteps  behind  them,  and  soon  a  lady  and  gen- 
tleman were  upon  the  piazza.  Lydia  and  Alfred  were  in  the 
shadow,  while  the  rays  of  the  full  moon  falling  full  upon  them 
disclosed  a  king  and  princess,  whose  voice  Lydia  immediately 
detected  as  Estelle's. 

"See!"  said  she,  pointing  to  the  figure  below,  "how  un- 
happy he  looks,  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  know  what  he  is 
suffering.  Look  at  him  !  our  own  Clarence,  standing  aloof 
from  every  one,  when  he  might  have  been  one  of  the  gayest 
among  us.  And  then  nothing  can  be  done,  no,  it  cannot  be 
altered  !    Is  it  not  sad,  pa  ?  " 

Lydia  could  have  stood  riveted  to  the  spot,  but  a  better  prin- 
ciple within  prompted  her  to  leave  the  speakers,  who  of  course 
thought  themselves  alone,  and  descending  the  steps  she  took  the 
arm  of  Alfred,  and  moved  through  the  grounds  to  another  en- 
trance ;  as  they  passed  the  figure  that  still  leaned  against  the 
pillar,  a  deep  sigh  escaped  him,  and  afterwards  as  Lydia  turned 
to  look  for  the  last  time,  there  he  was  as  before,  standing  alone 
in  the  shadow. 

Again  they  entered  the  saloon  where  the  dazzling  throng 
were  whirled  in  the  mazes  of  the  dance  ;  noticing  Lydia  parti- 
cipated but  little  if  any  in  the  festivities  of  the  evening,  Alfred 
proposed  returning  home,  thinking  she  must  be  suffering  from 
indisposition. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Lydia,  "see  that  pretty  little  figure  of  a 
peasant  girl  sitting  there  disengaged,  go  and  obtain  her  for  the 
next  dance,  I  will  rest  in  one  of  the  dressing-rooms,  and  then 
join  you  again  in  less  than  an  hour." 

On  reaching  the  room  and  finding  it  vacated,  she  threw  her- 
self upon  one  of  the  couches,  where  she  had  not  remained  long, 
when  a  party  entered  to  prepare  for  their  departure. 


a  spinster's  stoey.  347 

"Did  you  know  that  was  the  Count's  son?"  inquired  ono 
of  the  ladies,  of  a  companion. 

"  1  was  not  aware  of  it,"  was  the  reply,  "though  I  thought 
whoever  he  was,  he  acted  his  part  perfectly  well  as  long  as  he 
remained  with  us.  but  why  does  he  so  exclude  himself  from 
company?  lie  is  now  in  one  of  those  rooms  leading  from  the 
corridor,  stretched  upon  a  sofa,  his  mask  thrown  off,  and  he  the 
picture  of  despair  ;  a  tine  place  for  him  on  such  a,  night  as  this. 
What  can  he  the  matter?  " 

"  Oh,  have  you  not  heard  some  fair  maiden  proved  false  to 
him,  and  that  of  the  many  his  father  seleets,  not  one  will  lie 
accept  ?  But  see  what  a  eold,  lifeless  being  he  is,  and  I've  no 
sympathy  with  such." 

"  No  ;  neither  eold,  nor  lifeless,"  said  Lydia  to  herself  as 
she  arose  and  left  the  apartment,  "  and  has  some  heartless  one 
trifled  with  those  fine  feelings  ? "  and  the  dark  eyes  flashed  as 
she  contemplated  the  reprimand  she  could  give  such  an  one. 
"  Yet  Clarence,  have  you  not  acted  the  trifler  yourself?  But 
still  there  was  some  excuse  for  you  perhaps,  when  you  continued 
the  rich  and  the  courted,  while  I  was  suddenly  reduced  to 
penury  and  want ;  yes,  there  might  be  an  excuse,  yet,  oh  how 
cruel !  But  you  are  unhappy,  and  perhaps  regret  the  past ! 
Oh,  I  will  fly  to  you  —  forgive  —  and  comfort  you!"  She 
paused  as  she  found  she  had  reached  the  end  of  the  corridor, 
and  as  though  frightened  at  her  own  rashness,  exclaimed  half 
aloud,  "  what,  a  reconciliation?  Never!"  and  she  turned  to 
retrace  her  steps.  Again  she  paused,  and  after  contemplating 
awhile  in  agitated  suffering,  uttered  in  a  low  murmur,  "  But 
once  only  and  for  the  last  time  !  just  to  take  a  last  look  while 
he  remuns  unconscious  of  my  presence,  then  never  wish  to 
seek  that  face  again  !  " 

Stealthily  she  moved  along  the  corridor,  and  at  last  reached 
that  portion  of  it  upon  which  a  room  opened  that  was  well  known 
to  her,  for  she  had  often  accompanied  Estelle  and  Clarence 
thither,  for  the  view  it  afforded.  The  glass  doors  were  partly 
open,  and  though  only  a  subdued  light  fell  upon  the  apartment, 
as  the  damask  hangings  were  wafted  aside  by  the  breeze,  there 
was  a  full  view  of  all  within.  Upon  a  sofa,  as  the  speaker  had 
said,  reclined  the  figure  of  Clarence  ;  the  face  was  pale,  and 
wore  a  somewhat  care-worn  and  anxious  expression  ;  one  hand 
pressed  the  brow,  while  the  other  was  placed  upon  his  breast ; 
from  the  heavy  breathing  it  was  evident  he  was  sleeping,  though 
ever  and  anon  came  the  deep,  melancholy  sigh.  Noiselessly 
she  entered  the   room,  and  approaching  the   couch,  stood  and 


348  -\  bpinstkb's  btohy. 

gazed  upon  that  countenance  ;  lie  moved,  the  lips  parted,  a 
murmur  of  incoherent  words  escaped  him.  .Stooping  over  the 
dreamer  she  caught  the  words,  "Stay  —  listen  —  only  for  a 
moment  —  believe  m< — oh   Lydia  !  "     Lower  and  lower 

sunk  beside  the  couch,  until  bending  over  him,  her  lips  met  tl  e 
forehead,  and  there   imprinting  a  last   farewell,  she  fled  throi 

the  door,  and  along  the  corridor  to  the  saloon,  where  she  was 
m» in  lost  in  the  crowd. 

The  touch  had  aroused  the  sleeper,  and  as  the  eyes  opened 
they  fell  upon  the  black  skirt  that  was  just  disappearing  be- 
tween the  curtains.  He  arose,  and  pursued  the  intruder,  but 
caught  only  a  distant  glimpse  of  it  as  it  passed  into  the  saloon 
and  mingled  with  the  throng;  there  were  several  black  dresses 
among  them,  and  he  had  no  other  clue.  "  Who  could  it  have 
been  ?  "  murmured  he,  as  he  stood  gazing  upon  the  dancers, 
"  What  would  I  not  give  to  know  to  whom  I  am  so  indebted  ! 
However,  sweet,  fair  one,  whoever  you  may  be  you  have  my 
best  wishes  ;  but  no  tender  caress  can  soothe  this  troubled  con- 
science !  No.  Never  !  "  and  he  turned  again  to  the  solitude.' 
of  his  chamber. 

"  Come,  sister  of  mercy,"  said  Alfred,  as  he  surprised  Lydia, 
who  was  standing  lost  in  thought,  "  it's  late  now,  suppose  we 
think  of  retiring  from  the  scene." 

The  carriage  had  driven  to  the  door,  and  soon  the  festive 
throng  was  left  in  the  distance. 

Upon  returning  from  the  seat  of  war,  Clarence  had  found 
himself  in  possession  of  a  handsome  fortune  which  had  been  un- 
expectedly bequeathed  to  them  by  a  dying  relative  ;  ridding  the 
family  of  every  debt  that  lay  incumbent  upon  them,  he  with- 
drew from  society  in  which  he  had  formerly  so  joyously  min- 
gled, and  suffering  from  the  remorse  that  was  cankering  his 
soul,  constantly  hoped  to  hear  the  report  that  Lydia  had  united 
herself  to  one  of  her  many  admirers,  and  was  happy  ;  but  the 
months  rolled  on,  and  no  such  tidings  reached  the  ears  of  the 
wretched  Clarence. 

"Estelle,"  said  he  one  evening  as  he  entered  her  boudoir, 
"  I  hear  that  Alfred,  the  heir  of  La  Belle,  manifests  much  pref- 
erence for  Carlotta,  and  will  she  be  the  first,  I  wonder,  to  relin- 
quish the  name  of  Villiers  1  " 

"  It's  difficult  to  tell  ;  "  was  the  evasive  reply.  Having 
been  conjured  by  her  mother  to  assist  her  in  forcing  Clarence  to 
think  Lydia  perfectly  indifferent  in  regard  to  him,  she  always 
avoided  the  name  ;  and  now,  as  she  called  to  mind  many  a  wor- 


a  spinster's  story.  349 

thy  young  lady  who  respected  and  admired  her  brother,  she 
wished,  too,  for  the  sake  of  his  happiness  that  ho  could  forget 
Lydia  and  offer  himself  to  one  of  these  ;  for  although  she  had  a 
secret  idea  of  Lydia's  feelings  towards  him,  Bhe  had  ton  much 
fespect  tor  the  feelings  of  her  friend,  to  endeavor  to  penetrate 
into  the  truth,  and  could  now  add  with  all  sincerity,  "  Clarence!, 
Lydia  never  mentions  you,  and  if  your  name  is  uttered,  turns 
a  deaf  ear  to  it." 

"  But  how  is  it  that  among  her  many  suitors  none  appears  to 
please  V  " 

Estelle  looked  into  the  anxious  face,  and  partly  overcome  by 
the  misery  that  was  depicted  there,  was  for  a  moment  lost  in 
thought,  then  answered  abstractedly,  "  Well,  I  asked  her  that, 
and  she  said  —  oh,  but  Clarence,  I  must  go  and  finish  a  letter." 

"  Ah,  Estelle  !  I  know  more,  I  know  you  would  not  mention 
her  name ;  but  indeed  love,  it  is  more  pleasure  than  pain  to 
me  ;  and  do  tell  me  what  she  said.  Think  how  long  it  is  since  I 
heard  a  word  from  her  lips.  Do,  Estelle,  I  cannot  be  more 
wretched  than  I  am,  besides  I've  lost  all  hope  long  ago  — do  tell 
me  ! " 

"  Well,  she  only  said  this;  '  Estelle,  I  shall  remain  as  I  am, 
for  I  could  never  again  place  any  confidence  in  any  of  the 
sex.'  " 

"  And  well  she  might  say  so,  Estelle,  well  she  might !  " 

"  Oh,  while  I  think  of  it,  I  heard  accidentally  from  Alfred 
that  she  was  at  our  masquerade." 

"  Oh,  tell  me,  did  she  wear  black  1  "  after  a  long  pause. 

"  She  must  have,  for  she  came  as  a  nun,  but  I  must  go  ;  " 
and  she  left  him  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  gazing  into 
vacancy. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  lovely  Jung,  a  merry  peal  of 
bells,  as  it  broke  upon  the  serenity  of  the  hour,  was  wafted  upon 
the  breeze  through  the  open  window  of  Lydia,  to  arouse  her 
from  her  slumbers  to  the  recollection  that  it  was  the  day  when 
the  nuptials  of  the  beloved  Beatrice  would  be  solemnized.  They 
were  to  be  married  early,  and  as  the  morning  flitted  by,  it 
brought  the  hour  of  their  departure  for  the  church.  By  those 
who  knew  her,  the  beauty  of  Beatrice  has  been  described  as 
presenting  the  appearance  of  some  beau  ideal  of  the  fancy, 
rather  than  an  object  of  real  existence  ;  the  bridetnaids,  twelve 
in  number,  elegantly  and  tastefully  arrayed,  were  gathered  in 
the  drawing-room,  awaiting  the  appearance  of  the  bride  and 
bridegroom. 


350  A    SI'INSJKKS    STORY. 

"  Anna,  T  thought  Lydia  was  here,  where  is  she?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Villicrs.  Finding  her  daughter  was  missing,  and  remem? 
bering  how  pale  the  face  had  grown  of  late,  she  hastened  to  her 
room,  and  softly  opening  the  door,  found  Lydia  kneeling  by  a 

chair,  her  face  buried    ill  her  hands,  while  the  tears  fell  in  rapid 
succession  upon  the  folds  of  her  dress. 

"  Lyddie,  my  own  child,"  said  the  fond  mother,  as  she  pressed 
the  weeping  girl  to  her  bosom,  "  what  ails  you,  love  ?  '" 

Starting  to  her  feet,  Lydia  endeavored  to  cast  off  the  gloom 
that  hung  over  her,  but  vain  was  the  attempt,  and  throwing  her- 
self upon  the  bosom  of  her  mother,  she  wept  without  restraint, 
as  she  confessed  the  cause  of  her  misery. 

"  Lydia,  my  own  beloved  child,"  in  a  firm  voice  though  it 
trembled  from  emotion,  "  You  know  we  have  been  blessed 
above  all  that  we  could  have  desired,  yet  must  be  taught  in  our 
trials  that  we  are  the  children  of  earth;  and  remember  the 
words  of  Him  who  has  said,  '  Your  Heavenly  Father  knoweth 
that  ye  have  need  of  all  these  things.'  And  howsoever  rigid 
the  discipline  may  appear,  view  each  moment  of  suffering  as  a 
link  in  the  chain  that  draws  you  nearer  to  the  Mercy  Seat, 
where  a  spirit  of  submission  is  granted  to  all  who  seek  it  in  the 
Son's  name.  Look  into  the  past,  sweet  Lydia,  and  ask  yourself 
if  the  creature  has  not  been  exalted  above  the  Creator?  I 
know  you  are  ready  to  acknowledge  your  fault,  and  recollect,  it 
is  the  chastening  hand  of  love  that  tears  the  idol  from  its 
throne,  that  He  may  possess  the  first  place  in  the  heart.  Seek 
His  forgiveness  and  ask  His  blessing,  then,  whatever  clouds 
may  hover  round  your  early  life,  you  will,  by  and  by,  be  able 
to  see  it  was  the  cross  that  alone  could  lead  to  a  crown  of  glory." 

They  knelt  together,  and  the  widow  offered  the  fervent  peti- 
tion for  the  unhappy  Lydia,  and  soon  after,  they  joined  the  rest 
in  the  drawing  room  ;  and  with  the  exception  that  her  cheeks 
were  somewhat  pale,  Lydia  appeared  as  joyous  as  any. 

They  alighted  at  the  church.  As  they  entered  the  holy  edifice 
the  sublimest  strains  from  a  choir  of  exquisite  voices  stole  over 
them,  and  the  beautiful  chant  was  most  imposing,  especially  as 
it  was  quite  unexpected, —  a  number  of  Beatrice's  musical  friends 
having  agreed  to  give  her  the  surprise.  The  ceremony  was  be- 
gun. In  a  clear  voice  that  might  be  heard  in  all  parts  of  that 
vast  assembly,  Beatrice  performed  her  part  in  that  solemn  ser- 
vice, at  the  conclusion  of  which  they  received  the  congratula- 
tion of  their  many  friends,  and  returned  home  for  the  dejeuner. 
Then  the  sad  farewell  must  be  spoken,  as  the  delighted  Herbert 
Everett  bore  away  his  beautiful  bride  upon  the  commencement 


a  spinster's  stoet.  351 

of  their  tour,  which  was  expected  would  absent  them  during 
the  prolonged  term  of  a  whole  year,  when  they  anticipated  re- 
turning to  Berlin  to  take  the  last  leave  of  their  friends, previous 
to  the  departure  for  their  future  home  in  Philadelphia. 

•'  !  declare,  Mr.  Rveretl  looked  quite  handsome  to-day,  with 
that  fine  color  and  bright  animated  countenance,"  said  Alfred, 
as  they  stood  taking  the  last  view  of  the  carriage  that  was  fasl 
passing  out  of  their  sight,  "  and  we  know  too  how  happy  he 
must  he  ;  well,  I  wonder  how  I  shall  look  when  I  am  married  !  " 

"  Ca  depend,"  said  his  father,  somewhat  more  thoughtfully. 

Mr.  Weritworth  and  his  children  were  now  comfortably  set- 
tled at  La  Belle,  the  ease  and  luxury  of  which,  being  probably 
the  least  appreciated  by  him,  because  he  had  always  been  on  an 
equality  with  affluence,  while  they  had  been  too  familiar  with 
the  reverse.  Anna,  as  mistress  of  the  household,  had  much  to 
occupy  her  ;  while  Alfred  who,  although  his  fortune  would  have 
allowed  him  to  live  in  independence  and  dissipation,  began  to 
consider  what  course  of  occupation  he  should  pursue.  The  Vil- 
liers  often  visited  them,  and  at  other  times  Alfred  might  gen- 
erally be  found  at  the  house  of  his  aunt,  for  whatever  place 
contained  Carlotta,  could  not  be  long  without  him  also. 

Mr.  Wentworth  was  sitting  one  evening  in  his  library  read- 
ing the  periodicals  of  the  day,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Al- 
fred entered  ;  he  had  been  talking  with  Anna  in  the  next  room 
for  more  than  au  hour,  and  now  came  and  seated  himself  oppo- 
site his  father,  who,  upon  seeing  him,  laid  down  his  paper,  and 
extending  his  hand  said,  "  Well,  my  son,  and  have  you  arrived 
at  any  conclusion  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  "  answered  Alfred  respectfully,  as  he  arose  and 
took  the  proffered  hand  ;  for  although  he  sometimes  felt  he 
could  not  admire  or  esteem  the  character  of  his  father,  still  he 
always  loved  and  respected  him  because  he  was  his  father,  and 
rendered  him  every  attention,  which  the  latter  was  proud  to  re- 
ceive. It  had  ever  seemed  to  Alfred  that  just  so  much  of  his 
feelings  he  might  divulge  to  him  and  no  more,  while  the  rest 
was  reserved  for  Anna,  or  probably  Carlotta  received  the  great- 
est portion. 

"  And  I  suppose  your  conclusion  is,"  continued  his  father 
"  that  you  discover  it  is  more  comfortable  to  be  ensconced  in 
your  easy  chair,  than  to  follow  any  occupation  ;  so  I  think." 

"  No,  sir,  that  is  not  my  decision,"  said  Alfred,  smiling. 

"  Oh  no,  I  forgot  ;  you  wish  to  enter  that  bank  in  Berlin, 
that  you  may  become  acquainted  with  the  millionaire,  and  mar 


352  a  spixkter's  btobt. 

ry  his  daughter,  Yes,]  understand.  Or  else  you  want  to  buy 
a  share  in  ;i  merchantman  and  see  foreign  parts,  while  you  add 
to  your  fortune." 

••  Father,"  said  Alfred,  looking  mure  serious,  "  it  is  nol  to  in- 
my  fortune  that  I  wish  to  be  occupied,  it  is  that  I  may 
not  feel  I  am  living  for  nothing,  a  mere  dormant  mass  of  flesh 
and  Bense,  while  many  around  me,  no  better  qualified,  are  earn- 
ing a  name  that  will  ever  be  remembered  with  respect  and  ad- 
miration ;  and  — " 

"  Oh,  now  I  understand  what  your  aim  is.  T  recollect  T  was 
just  so  at  your  age  ;  ease  and  luxury  were  nothing,  while  fame, 
glorious  fame,  could  alone  satisfy  the  cravings  of  my  soul,  I 
see  — " 

"  But,  father,  please  hear  me  to  the  end;  indeed,  you  are 
yet  mistaken  ;  perhaps,  had  I  experienced  no  trials  and  suffer- 
ing just  at  the  time  when  the  laurels  of  fame  seemed  to  me  most 
attractive,  it  might  be  that  I  should  still  have  been  actuated  by 
the  same  ambition  :  hut  [  have  learned  there  is  a  nobler  cause, 
a  more  sublime  ideal  of  a  perfect  enjoyment  on  earth,  than  any 
of  these  can  afford." 

Alfred's  countenance  glowed  with  the  earnestness  of  his  words, 
and  after  gazing  upon  his  son  some  time  in  silence,  his  father 
added,  "  Then  you  mean  to  preach  !  " 

"  No>  sir  ;  I  don't  think  the  pulpit  would  be  a  fit  place  for 
me.  I  never  could  content  myself  in  a  parish  just  so  many  feet 
square,  no  such  confined  limits  could  ever  have  charms  for  me  ; 
besides,  I  might  soon  degenerate  into  one  of  those  who  stand 
week  after  week  nearly  sleeping  over  a  more  drowsy  congrega- 
tion." 

"  What !  you  want  to  do  some  good  in  the  world  that  will 
leave  behind  an  everlasting  name,  and  yet  you  don't  wish  to 
preach  and  pray  for  people  ;  then  what  the  deuce  does  the  boy 
want  to  be  at  ?  " 

"  Father,"  said  Alfred,  in  a  milder  tone,  "  there  are  numer- 
ous preachers  in  the  world,  already,  and  it  would  be  useless  for 
me  to  add  my  feeble  efforts  to  theirs  ;  but  there  is  a  class  of 
men  most  needed,  and  yet  very  seldom  to  be  found, — 

"  Theu  they  must  be  extraordinary  good  ones  if  they're  so 
scarce." 

"  Now  it  is  not  all  who  can  enlist  upon  this  roll,  because  some 
cannot  afford  to  live  without  a  recompense  for  their  labors;  "  — 

"  Oh,  then  you're  going  to  work  for  nothing  1  " 

"  Not  but  that  there  are  those  who  would  be  willing  to  aban- 
don all  personal  comfort  for  this  cause,"    continued   Alfred. 


a  spinster's  story.  353 

"  but  a  poor  man   cannot   undertake  it,  for  the  expenses  ;ire 

great." 

"  Where  in  the  world  are  you  going?  to  the  West  to  hunt 
buffalo?     Oh  no  I  forgot,  you're  to  be  doing  something  good, 

then  you're  about  to  start  on  a  crusade  to  the  Holy  Land." 

"  Father,  few  and  far  between  as  these  .men  are,  there  have 
been  a  few  in  whose  footsteps  we  can  follow.  Think  of  a  How- 
ard !  What  great  achievements  of  man  can  be  ranked  with 
such  a  glorious  career  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  he  was  one  of  the  great  philanthropists,  I  begin  to 
understand  you." 

"  And  father,  I've  no  poverty  to  fetter  me,  the  will  only  is 
needed,  I  trust  I  have  that,  and  I  will  go.  I  once  knew  what 
it  was  to  be  in  misery  and  want,  but  since  have  been  blessed 
with  all  the  world  can  afford,  and  now  would  gladly  devote  my 
life  for  the  good  of  my  fellow  men.  I  would  go  to  the  prisoner 
in  his  chains,  whom  the  world  despises  until  he  shrinks  into 
himself,  and  longs  for  death,  and  taking  my  seat  beside  him  as 
a  brother,  I  would  tell  him  I  were  a  fellow  sinner,  weak  in 
principle,  prone  to  err  as  himself,  who  would,  without  doubt, 
under  the  same  temptations,  have  fallen  equally  low  ;  then, 
while  I  ministered  to  his  temporal  comfort,  I  would  point  him 
to  that  everlasting  Friend  who  left  His  glorious  throne  '  not  to 
call  the  righteous  but  sinners  to  repentance.'  Then,  sir,  1  should 
have  the  comfortable  assurance  of  doing  the  will  of  the  great 
Master,  in  whose  strength  I  trust  to  go  forth."  Alfred  paused, 
and  in  silence  his  father  gazed  upon  him  ;  as  he  stood  still  con- 
templating his  theme,  the  rich  locks  brushed  from  the  forehead, 
the  cheeks  flushed  with  the  enthusiasm  which  had  prompted  his 
words,  rendering,  as  it  appeared  to  the  father,  a  handsomer 
countenance  than  ever.  As  he  watched  the  face,  he  uttered  half 
aloud,  "  What !  waste  such  endowments  in  a  prison  ?  " 

"Sir,"  said  Alfred,  as  he  turned  again  towards  the  silent 
man,   "  may  I  consider  I  have  your  approval '(  " 

The  haughty  spirit  relented,  and  springing  to  his  feet,  he 
seized  the  hand  of  his  son,  exclaiming,  "Alfred,  please  your- 
self and  you  please  me." 

Leaving  him  again  to  his  newspapers,  Alfred  ascended  the 
stairs  that  led  to  the  picture  gallery,  and  passing  to  the 
end  where  the  family  portraits  were  arranged  according  to  an- 
cestry, he  stopped  before  that  of  his  mother,  which  had  been 
taken  about  two  years  previous  to  his  birth.  "  How  beautiful 
you  were  !  "  exclaimed  he,  kissing  the  lips  upon  the  canvas, 
"  and  my   Carlotta  will  be  as  good   and  beautiful  as  you   were, 


:>ol  A  spins n:i:"s   STOJBT, 

my  sweet  young  mother."  Then  leaving  it  to  its  solitude,  he 
passed  on  to  a  suit  of  rooms  in  the  wing,  and  entering  a  cosy 
little  boudoir,  sat  down  opposite  his  sister,  saying,  "  Well,  my 
dearly  beloved,  how  interesting  you  look  !  Now,  if  I  were  go- 
ing to  write  a  romance  upon  sweet  solitude,  you  should  figure 
as  the  heroine." 

••  I  know  all  that,  Alfred,  but  did  father  consent  '  " 

"  Oh  certainly,  and  now  1  shall  answer  my  friends  letter,  and 
bid  you  good-by,  to  accompany  him  on  his  route  for  the  princi- 
pal cities  in  (iermany,  where  we  expect  to  be  absent  a  year." 

••  What,  a  year  !  and  not  look  upon  the  face  of  Lottie,  Alfred 
Wentworth?" 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  all !  but  you  shall,  if  you  will  promise 
me  to  keep  it  secret,  and  not  to  think  very  ill  of  me  if  I  con- 
fess that,  unknown  to  her  mother  and  sister,  Carlotta  is  about  to 
elope  with  me."  * 

"  Why,  Alfred  !  and  you  at  the  eve  of  beginning  a  great  and 
good  work  ;  you  frighten  me  !  " 

'•  Ah,  now  the  little  heroine  is  alarmed  at  the  sound  of  dan- 
ger in  the  distance.  But  truly,  Anna,  I  must  take  her  with  me. 
I  like  to  feel  she  is  dependent  upon  me  ;  besides,"  with  an  ex- 
pression of  anxiety,  "  it's  too  late  to  repent,  for  she  is  here  in 
the  house  with  me  now,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  get  her  back 
to  her  mother,  for  you  see  she  was  stolen." 

"  Oh,  but  Alfred,  you  surely  never  could  take  part  in  any- 
thing so  dishonorable, —  let  me  see  Lottie  and  reason  with  her." 

"  Now  the  heroine  is  in  frantic  despair;  but  out  of  compas- 
sion I  will  dispel  her  fears.  •  Come,  Anna,  into  the  next  room, 
and  you  shall  see  her  sweet  face ;  though  first  promise  to  kiss 
her  cheek  and  speak  kindly  to  her." 

"  Oh,  I  will  —  I  will  promise  anything,  only  let  me  see  her." 

He  led  her  iuto  the  adjoining  room,  and  displayed  a  minia- 
ture portrait  of  Carlotta,  which  was  suspended  by  a  silver  cord 
round  his  neck,  saying,  "Can  anything  be  more  dependent? 
Now  the  heroine  is  relieved,  the  romance  is  ended,  and  we'll  go 
to  tea." 

Having  received  Alfred's  letter,  the  gentleman  whom  he  was 
to  accompany  paid  them  an  early  visit ;  their  plans  were  duly 
arranged,  by  which  they  would  complete  their  round  in  Ger- 
many and  Holland,  by  Christinas.  Then  the  packing  was  com- 
pleted, and  they  took  their  leave. 

"Now  Anna,"  said  Alfred,  as  he  kissed  her  sad  face,  "the 
first  time  you  hear  of  a  prison  falling  in,  lie  sure  to  make  your- 
self miserable  by  imagining  me  buried  in  the  ruins.  Good-by," 
and  Alfred  was  gone. 


a  spinster's  story.  355 

There  was  a  party  at  the  house  of  Lady  Douglas,  a  Scotch  la- 
dy who  had  during  the  season,  contributed  much  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  her  Berlin  friends,  by  the  musical  and  literary  enter- 
tainments which  she  had  given.  One  of  Lydia's  admirers 
urged  her  to  attend,  and  having  so  often  refused  him  on  similar 
occasions,  she  at  last  consented  to  accompany  him. 

As  Lydia  entered  the  drawing-room,  several  arose  to  greet 
her,  and  soon  a  circle  was  formed  in  which  the  chief  topic  seem- 
ed to  be  the  marriage  of  Clarence,  which  one  lady  was  positive 
would  shortly  take  place,  while  others  who  had  been  acquainted 
with  Lydia's  previous  intimacy  with  him,  urged  question  after 
question  in  regard  to  his  present  connection,  (of  which  she  knew 
nothing,)  continuing  to  watch  closely  her  countenance  and  man- 
ner; but  so  self-possessed  was  Lydia,  that  she  answered  every 
inquiry  with  perfect  ease,  so  that  the  art  of  the  inquisitive  ladies 
rendered  them  none  the  wiser.  One  of  them  then  proposed  as- 
cending to  the  music  room,  where  Mile.  Jenny  Lind  was  sing- 
ing one  of  the  favorite  airs  from  "  Lucia  di  Lammermoor." 

They  pressed  Lydia  to  take  her  place  by  the  instrument,  and 
she  sung  them  a  song  entitled  "  Nevermore,"  in  which  the 
words  were  her  own  composition,  which  Beatrice  had  translated 
into  Italian,  and  set  to  a  sweet,  plaintive  air,  well  suited  to  the 
melancholy  poem.  The  first  verse  was  concluded,  and  she  was 
playing  the  interlude,  when  she  beheld  Clarence  standing  in  a 
corner,  leaning  against  the  wall.  Their  eyes  met ;  Lydia's  first 
impulse  was  to  leave  the  cantata  unfinished,  then,  not  willing 
he  should  think  he  had  disconcerted  her,  she  completed  her 
song,  and  left  the  room,  still  haunted  by  that  countenance  in 
which  remorse,  sorrow,  disappointment,  were  so  strongly  depict- 
ed. 

That  night  brought  no  moment  of  sleep  to  the  unhappy  Clar- 
ence, who  passed  the  long,  weary  hours  in  pacing  the  floor  of 
his  chamber.  The  morning  dawned,  he  resolved  to  write  to 
Lydia,  but  sheet  after  sheet  was  violently  torn  to  pieces,  for 
none  could  satisfy  him,  as  none  could  portray  the  intensity  of 
feeling  that  prompted  the  act.  He  would  go  to  Lydia — he 
would  see  her  —  speak  to  her.  No  matter  though  she  scorn 
him  and  refuse  to  listen  —  no  matter  though  she  upbraid,  and 
spurn  him  from  her  presence,  what  more  did  he  deserve  ?  he 
would  go.  No  matter  though  his  father  would  vow  vengeance 
upon  him  for  acknowledging  they  had  ever  known  poverty,  he 
must,  and  would  confess  all,  tell  her  how  much  he  loved  her  — 
how  much  he  had  suffered  for  her  sake.  Yes,  no  matter  the 
consequences,  he  must  see  Lydia  ! 


356  \    BPIUSTEB'S    STORY. 

Impatiently  he  waited  until  the  first  liours  of  the  morning 
had  passed  by,  then  rushed  from  the  house,  and  with  rapid  steps 
pursued  his  way  through  the  streets  that  led  to  Lydia's.  A  ser- 
vant answered  bis  knock,  he  inquired  for  Miss  Villiers,  and 
gave  his  name  ;  he  was  shown  into  the  parlor,  and  the  name 
carried  to  the  ladies.  There  was  a  short  delay,  then  the  rust- 
ling of  a  dress,  and  he  arose  expecting  to  see  Lydia,  but  Mrs. 
Villiers  stood  before  him. 

"  Madam,  if  you  please,  T  would  see  Miss  Lydia." 

"  Sir,  you  caunot  see  Miss  Lydia,"  with  calm  dignity. 

"Then  I  have  no  further  request;"  bowing,  "but  oh,  Mad- 
am, you  know  not  what  you  deny.*' 

"  Sir,  you  have  denied  me  the  happiness  of  my  child,  and 
would  now  inflict  further  pain  upon  her,  by  forcing  yourself 
into  her  presence." 

"  T,  Madam  '(     I  deny  Lydia  happiness?     I  inflict  pain  upon 

Lydia?     Oh,  hear  me,  1    bes h   you!"  he  caught   her  dress 

as  she  turned  to  leave  him,  she  could  not  resist  the  expression 
of  agony  that  rested  upon  his  countenance,  she  suffered  him  to 
draw  her  to  a  seat,  and  listened  to  the  broken  sentences  of  his 
confession  ;  then  she  repaired  to  Lydia's  room,  and  taking  her 
by  the  hand,  said,  "  Come  with  me  !"  and  led  her  in  silence 
down  the  stairs  into  the  parlor.  She  started  at  seeing  him, 
then  stood  and  gazed  intently  upon  him  ;  he  arose,  and  remain- 
ed with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  but  neither  spoke.  The  widow 
withdrew,  closed  the  door,  and  left  them  to  themselves. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


"T  pniy^-ou  do  not  fall  in  love  with  me, 
For  I  am  (User  than  vows  made  in  wine; 
Besides,  I  like  you  not." 


Gaily  the  summer  had  flitted  by,  notwithstanding  the  lone- 
liness Anna  had  imagined  she  should  experience  in  the  loss  of 
Alfred  ;  the  autumn  fruits  had  been  gathered  in,  and  now  pre- 
parations were  being  made  for  Christmas,  an  event  that  was 
anticipated  with  much  pleasure  by  the  cousin-,  -who  were  to  pass 
the  time  together  at  La  Belle,  where  a  large  company  was  ex- 
pected. It  was  a  wTeek  before  the  joyful  event,  as  Anna  sat 
one  evening  wondering  whether  anything  could  prevent  Alfred's 
arrival,  and   impatiently  awaiting   her   father's   return  from  the 


a  spinster's  story.  357 

post-office,  that  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a  small  pack- 
age of  letters  thrown  into  her  lajp,  aa  Mr.  Wentworth's  voice 
exclaimed,  "  Now  darling,  see  when  he's  coming  !  "  She  open- 
ed the  one  whose  direction  bore  his  handwriting,  it  ran  thus. — 

"  My  beloved  sister  : — You  see  yonr  delinquent  of  an  Alfred 
has  again  forgotten  to  be  negligent,  and  sends  you  another  en- 
dearing epistle,  that  you  may  feel  assured  no  prison  has  as  yet 
buried  him  in  its  ruins,  as  you  predicted.  But  oh,  Anna,  while 
!  think  of  it,  I've  something  very  important  to  say  —  make 
haste  and  prepare  the  most  charming  room,  for  a  most  charm- 
ing young  fellow  whom  1  shall  bring  with  me,  and  be  sure  to 
greet  him  with  your  most  charming  smile.  Mind,  I  shall  expect 
a  commission  for  the  introduction,  for  unless  your  little  heart  is 
of  adamant,  you  cannot  resist  the  attractions  of  your  visitor. 
But  you  understand  he  is  coming,  and  that  is  enough. 

"  My  dear  Anna,  I've  been  thinking  of  late  what  a  pleasure 
it  would  be  to  you  could  you  realize  what  we  have  been  doing 
since  we  left  you  ;  if  I  could  describe  to  you  the  comfort  our 
presence  diffuses  over  many  a  gloomy  confine  of  wretched  beings, 
you  would  then  see  our  efforts  were  not  of  none  effect.  A  few 
weeks  ago,  I  visited  a  cell  where  lay  the  bodies  of  four  persons 
who  had  died  of  a  malignant  disease,  ready  to  be  carried  away 
to  their  last  resting-place  ;  near  these  were  crouched  several  mis- 
erable creatures  who,  it  was  expected,  would  shortly  share  the 
same  fate  ;  and  in  order  to  commune  with  the  living,  it  was 
necessary  to  sit  down  beside  the  dead.  Some  of  these  sufferers 
were  from  foreign  climes,  not  one  speaking  the  language  of 
another,  and  it  occurred  to  me,  how  grateful  I  ought  to  be  for 
your  untiring  energy  in  persuading  me  to  study  the  modern 
languages. 

"  Well,  I  had  remained  with  them  but  a  few  minutes,  when  I 
heard  heavy  steps  approaching,  and  three  men  entered  bearing 
something  upon  a  bier.  Quickly  placing  their  charge  upon  the 
pile,  they  were  about  to  leave  when  I  inquired,  what  it  was. 
'  Only  another  corpse,  sir,'  was  the  reply.  '  One  whom  I  have 
seen?  '  '  Yes,  the  one  you  spoke  to  awhile  ago,  he  died  just  as 
you  left  him.'  '  Oh,  but  it  cannot  be,  exclaimed  I,  he  could  not 
be  dead  so  soon,  surely  ! '  Paying  no  attention  to  my  words, 
they  began  to  carry  out  the  bodies  into  the  grave-yard.  I  went 
in  search  of  the  overseer,  but  found  him  as  indifferent  as  his 
men  ;  On  returning.  I  discovered  them  in  the  aot  of  lowering 
this  body  into  the  grave,  which  was  a  large  cavity  already  near- 
ly filled  wifh  its  many  victims.     Taking  a  hatchet,  I  wrenched 


o."»S  A.    STMN'STEr's    STORY. 

the  lid  from  the  deal  box  that  encased  the  body,  and  with  my 
knife  ripped  open  the  sheet  that  was  sewed  round  it;  the  fleBh 
was  warm,  and  the  lungs  in  motion.  I  assisted  in  carrying  him 
into  the  open  air,  away  from  the  fetid  atmosphere  of  that  con- 
tagious disease  ;  then  returned  to  the  sufferers  in  the  cell,  and 
had  them  removed  from  that  dungeon  of  death,  to  where  they 
could  enjoy  fresh  air,  and  proper  nursing.  But  our  task  for  that 
day  was  nut  ended,  until  we  had  written  to  the  authorities,  im- 
ploring them  to  take  into  their  serious  consideration,  the  111:111- 
agemenl  of  these  buildings,  where  it  seems  it  is  often  the  case 
when  a  fever  is  raging,  to  take  the  living  for  the  dead, —  espe- 
cially upon  the  day  of  the  crisis, —  as  few  ever  recover,  when 
once  they  are  shut  in  the  fetid  air  of  these  miserable  abodes. 

Such,  Anna  dearest,  is  the  need  of  some  one  with  a  fellow 
feeling  in  these  places  where  I  pass  the  greater  part  of  my  time  ; 
nor  are  we  unrepaid  for  our  labors,  for  the  man  who  was  about 
to  be  buried,  together  with  all  the  rest,  except  two,  are  doing 
well. 

I  have  you  and  Lottie  in  my  bosom  during  the  day,  and  un- 
der my  pillow  when  I  lie  down  to  sleep,  and  the  remembrance 
of  you  often  cheers  me  on  my  way,  to  minister  comfort  to  the 
poor  and  unfortunate.  But  next  week  you  will  see  me,  if  noth- 
ing happens,  so  I'll  keep  all  other  news  till  then,  while  vou 
build  your  castles  in  the  air  concerning 

Wallace  Grovenor,  Esquire, 
Whom  all  much  admire  ; 
Fine  fellow  is  he. 
You  a  lover  require, 
Now  here's  your  desire  — 
Whatever  it  be. 

But  I  shall  not  take  the  trouble  to  describe  him,  for  soon  you 
will  see  him  and  your  tormentor,  until  then  believe  me, 

Your  affectionate, 

Alfred." 

"  And  now,  Anna,  it's  time  you  began  to  consider  what  room 
you  will  give  your  visitor,"  said  Mr.  Wentworth,  as  Anna  fin- 
ished reading  him  the  letter.  "  Ah,  my  child,  you  may  look  very 
indifforrent  about  it  now,  but  before  long  you  may  find  your 
heart  is  not  proof  against  such  impressions.  You  know  not 
what  it  is  to  be  in  love.  Think  how  happy  Lydia  must  feel  now 
that  she  is  reconciled  to  Clarence ;  besides,  she  will  be  married 
before  long,  and  can  hope  to  be  the  Countess  de  Castello.  Think 
c/  it !     Ah,  Anna,  you  know  not  what  it  is  to  be  in  love  !" 


a  spinster's  story.  359 

"  Oh  yes,  pa.  I  used  to  sympathize  with  Lyddie,  but  indeed 
I  wonder  how  any  girl  can  trouble  herself  about  some  one  whom 
she  believes  cares  nothing  at  all  for  her." 

"  But,  Anna,  that  is  love  !  you  see  you  know  nothing  of  this 
passion.  Ah,  but  my  daughter,  let  me  bid  you  beware,  for  it 
too  often  happens  when  Cupid's  arrow  is  aimed  at  one  wh<»  has 
never  before  felt  the  dart,  the  wound  is  severer,  the  poison  more 
deadly." 

It  was  the  evening  Alfred  and  his  companion  were  expected  ; 
the  chamber  had  been  duly  prepared  for  the  guest,  and  the  fire 
burned  brightly,  awaiting  his  arrival.  Anna  was  seated  at  the 
instrument  playing  some«  of  her  father's  favorite  airs,  when 
there  was  the  distant  rumbling  of  carriage  wheels,  and  soon 
Alfred  rushed  into  the  hall,  followed  by  his  friend,  who  was  a 
young  gent  of  medium  stature,  probably  about  twenty-three  or 
five,  with  black  curly  hair,  full,  dark  eyes,  and  a  frank,  open 
countenance,  that  instantly  won  the  admiration  of  any  beholder. 
As  an  interlocutor  he  proved  to  be  humorous  and  jocular,  with 
no  small  degree  of  wit,  which  was  always  to  the  purpose  and 
well-timed.  They  played,  sung,  and  conversed  until  the  hour 
of  eleven  interrupted  them,  when  they  arose  to  separate  for  the 
night. 

Christmas  came,  and  those  who  had  been  invited  came  also  ; 
Mr.  Grovenor  was  urged  to  pass  the  week  with  them,  and  re- 
mained several  days  after  the  guests  had  departed.  As  Carlotta 
had  not  taken  her  leave  with  the  rest,  Alfred's  attention  was  so 
occupied  with  her,  that  Anna  and  her  new  acquaintance  were 
thrown  often  together.  At  last  the  house  always  seemed  dull 
without  him,  and  she  would  count  the  hours  for  his  return. 

How  invisible,  and  how  much  more  treacherous  because  it  is 
unseen,  is  the  chain  that  so  often  links  an  object  to  us  as  a  part 
of  ourselves  !  We  awake,  and  start  as  we  behold  its  strength, 
we  look  for  a  flaw  where  we  may  break  the  tie,  but  vain  is  the 
search  ;  we  weep  over  it,  but  what  are  weak,  silvery  tears  upon 
those  iron-bound  links,  doubly  wrought  in  the  furnace  of  the 
passions,  where  unconsciously  the  will  yielded  submissively  to 
their  magic  power  '(  What  is  the  refuge  '(  Only  to  shrink  back 
into  ourselves,  amazed  at  the  enormity  of  our  weakness  and 
folly  ! 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  departure,  when  the  two  who  had 
in  so  short  a  time  thrown  a  halo  of  joy  round  the  inmates  of  the 
chateau,  must  for  the  present  take  their  farewell  of  La  Belle, 
and  return  to  their  duties  abroad.     In  the  spring,  should  he  live, 


3G0  a  spinster's  stobt. 

Alfred  would  be  twenty-one,  and  return  to  make  a  longer  stay 
with  them  ;  bo  that  Anna  felt  little  concern  in  regard  to  him. 
But  Wallace  !  when  should  she  see  him  again  ?  probably 
Alfred  could  tell,  but  .such  an  inquiry  from  her  lips,  would 
awaken  in  the  quick,  perception  of  the  brother  a  suspicion  which 
she  did  not  feel  dispose  1  Bhould  exist.  Yet  why  not,  in  some 
happy  moment,  inquire  of  Wallace  himself,  appearing  at  the 
same  time  perfectly  indifferent  as  to  the  answer. 

Anna  pondered  the  words.  But  no,  she  could  not  act  the  part 
of  the  hypocrite  to  perfection,  and  dreaded  lest  she  should  be- 
tray the  truth  ;  and  there,  she,  who  had  so  lately  been  one  of 
the  happiest  in  Prussia,  stood  alone  in  that  room,  watching  in 
her  wretchedness  the  approach  of  the  carriage  that  was  to  con- 
vey them  away. 

The  door  opened,  and  turning  round  she  beheld  Wallace.  A 
roguish  smile  played  over  the  features,  as  the  mischievous  eyes 
were  fixed  penetratively  upon  her,  while  he  extended  his  hand 
saying,  "•  Well,  Miss  Wentworth,  I'm  going."  There  was  a 
pause.  Anna  would  have  spoken,  but  his  gaze  so  unnerved  her 
that  all  utterance  failed,  and  he  was  again  the  first  to  speak. 
"  Good-by,  Anna,  until  me  meet  again." 

'•  And  when  will  that  be  ?  " 

"  Do  you  care  to  know?"  and  the  cruel,  scrutinizing  gaze 
was  resumed.  She  felt  she  had  not  been  able  to  withstand  that 
searching  glance,  anil  painful  as  it  was,  she  was  obliged  to  ac- 
knowledge to  herself,  that  he  had  made  the  unhappy  discovery, 
that  it  was  too  late  to  retract.  Again  taking  the  hand,  she 
said,  "  Mr,  Grovenor,  whenever  you  are  in  this  direction,  you 
will  know  where  to  find  a  welcome." 

Perhaps  he  had  also  discovered  that  his  manner  had  been 
painful  to  her,  for  his  countenance  wore  a  serious  expression,  as 
with  more  earnestness  he  added,  "  Anna,  you  are  very  kind  to 
be  interested  in  the  welfare  of  such  a  reckless  fellow,"  kissing 
her  cheek,  "  I  know  you  would  like  me  to  write,  and  I  will. 
Good-by  !  " 

He  joined  Alfred  in  the  hall,  they  jumped  in  the  carriage, 
and  soon  Wallace  was  borne  from  her  sight. 

Two  months  had  passed,  and  week  after  week  had  Anna  anx- 
iously watched  the  mail,  but  no  letter,  except  those  which  bore 
the  handwriting  of  Alfred  or  her  cousins  ;  no  mention  was  ever 
made  of  Wallace,  and  Anna  sometimes  thought  he  could  not  be 
living. 

"  Miss  Wentworth,"  said  her  maid  one  afternoon,  as  she  came 
in  from  a  drive,  "  there's  a  gentleman  waiting  to  see  you." 


a  spinster's  story.  361 

"  Oh,  it  must  be  Clarence,"  thought  Anna,  as  she  glanced  at 
the  dusty  sad  He  of  the  tired-looking  horse  that  stood  at  the 
door.  As  she  entered  the'  ante  room,  Wallace  rose  to  meet 
her.  Neither  prepared  or  inclined  to  conceal  the  pleasure  she 
experienced  at  seeing  him,  her  greeting  was  one  of  spontaneous 
delight, 

'*  Ah,  hut  you  never  wrote,"  said  Anna  after  a  pause,  look- 
ing reproachfully  into  the  bright,  animated  countenance. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot,  or  at  least  1  thought  you  might  have-  changed 
your  mind,  ami  would  not  care  perhaps  to  hear  from  me  ;  "  and 
under  the  influence  of  his  roguish  smile,  the  face  seemed  more 
bewitching  than  ever. 

"  Indifferent  creature  !  "  thought  Anna,  "  how  lightly  j'ou  re- 
gard a  soul's  devotion,  how  little  to  you  is  the  life  of  one  who 
exists  only  in  your  presence,  to  whom  your  name  alone  is  rap- 
ture, and  infinite  delight  !  " 

He  gazed  into  her  face,  a  serio-comic  expression  overspread 
his  features,  while  the  laughing  eyes  danced  mischievously  as  he 
awaited  her  response.  Seeing  she  remained  silent,  disappoint 
ment  and  sadness  visibly  depicted  upon  her  countenance,  the 
expression  of  his  face  changed,  and  in  an  earnest  tone  he  said, 
as  he  placed  himself  beside  her,  "  Oh,  Anna,  forgive  me,  T 
never  thought  before  how  much  you  cared  for  me  ;  indeed,  I'll 
do  better  in  future." 

"Oh,  it's  of  little  consequence — it's  not  worth  while  — 
don't  take  the  trouble,  I've  no  wish  to  hear  from  you."  And 
she  arose  to  leave. 

"  But  Anna,"  detaining  her,  "  you  have  a  great  regard  for 
me,  and  even  prefer  me  to  many." 

"  And  what  is  worse,  you  are  fully  aware  of  it.  Only  let 
me  tell  you,  I  don't  wish  you  to  pity  me  for  my  weakness,  I've 
no  desire  for  such  sympathy  as  yours,  but  if  it  would  be  any 
gratification  to  you,  Wallace,  despise  me  for  my  folly  ;  for  fool- 
ish and  blind  have  I  been  to  throw  away  thoughts  upon  one  who 
has  often  confessed  he  cared  for  no  one.  Don't  detain  me, 
there's  nothing  more  to  be  said,  except  that  you  are  not  injured, 
and  I  have  learned  a  lesson." 

"  Anna,  I  know  —  yes,  you  are  right,"  looking  contempla- 
tively into  vacancy,  "  I  know  I  have  said  I  cared  for  no  one  — 
for  nothing  that  any  one  might  think  of  me ;  but  Anna,  when 
I  told  you  that,  I  had  no  one  in  the  wide  world  to  care  for  me, 
was  it  strange  that  I  should  care  for  no  one  ?  " 

"  No  one  to  care  for  you  !  "  Anna  pondered  the  words,  then 
16 


362  a  spinster's  stobt. 

added  quickly  "but  you  do  not  deserve  it,  and  expect  no  more 
from  me."  s   • 

"  Very  well,  \rnia,  it's  my  own  fault  J  but  no  mutter,  if  will 
be  nothing  new  for  roe  to  wander  from  one  place  to  another, 
without  one  to  care  whether  I  live  or  die!  "  He  arose  to  go, 
deep  dejection  rested  upon  his  countenance ;  conflicting  emotions 
struggled  within  the  bosom  of  Anna,  another  second,  and  Wal- 
lace was  conqueror.  "Oh,  Wallace,  stay  one  moment —  I 
never  meant  to  lie  unkind  ! 

lie  turned  and  gazed  upon  her  in  silence,  then  drew  her  to  a 
scat,  hrushed  back  the  flaxen  hair  from  the  flushed  face,  and 
added  in  a  low,  earnest  lone,  "  Anna,  I  know  how  great  is  your 
love  for  me,  trust  me —  it  shall  not  be  ill  requited.  Let  me  once 
be  assured  I've  one  in  the  world  to  care  for  me,  and  you  will  fin'd 
I  am  not  the  reckless,  inconstant  fellow  you  imagine.  Good-by, 
love,"  and  he  was  gone. 

"Wallace  was  staying  with  some  companions  at  an  inn  not  far 
distant,  and  his  visits  to  the  chateau  of  La  Belle  were  frequent. 
He  had  told  Anna  his  father  was  a  man  of  rigid  severity,  who 
had  in  a  moment  of  passion  turned  him  from  his  roof,  and  gave 
her  but  little  hope  of  her  ever  being  presented  to  his  family  ; 
but  this  was  nothing  to  her,  it  was  for  himself,  and  not  for  his 
friends  or  his  fortune,  that  she  cared  ;  and  now  that  she  could 
hope  to  possess  as  her  own  all  that  gave  life  a  charm,  she  had 
no  further  anxiety,  and  was  again  the  happy,  lively  Anna,  the 
life  of  La  Belle. 

It  was  April,  great  things  were  in  contemplation  at  the  cha- 
teau, and  workmen  were  busily  engaged  making  alterations,  pre- 
paratory to  the  reception  of  its  new  inmate  ;  not  that  the  ex- 
pectations of  Anna  in  regard  to  Wallace  had  been  made  known, 
for  as  yet  this  was  kept  secret,  but  because  Carlotta  was  to  be- 
come the  future  mistress  of  La  Belle,  and  would  before  very 
long  come  to  take  up  her  permanent  abode  there.  One  strik- 
ing event  that  was  incident  upon  these  alterations,  was  the  fol- 
lowing,— 

One  of  the  wings  which  was  of  the  same  size  as  the  rest,  was 
found  to  contain  one  room  less  than  the  others  ;  the  architect 
insisted  that  an  undiscovered  apartment  must  exist,  and  in  or- 
der to  satisfy  himself  that  this  was  an  erroneous  idea,  Mr.  Went- 
worth  ordered  part  of  the  wall  to  be  removed,  when  lo  I  a  cham- 
ber containing  two  human  skeletons  was  open  to  their  viewv 
The  rest  remained  a  mystery.  It  was  evident  that  murder,  or  su- 
icide, or  bom,  had  been  committed  there,  and  that  the  room  had 


a  spinster's  story.  3G3 

been  enclosed  apon  tliem,  just  as  they  were  discovered,  and  it 
could  not  luit  be  believed,  that  one  of  these  was  the  skeleton  of 
the  unhappy   Odina,  whose  fate  had  been  known  probably  to 

only  a  few  of  her  family,  who  ha  1  been  faithful  in  keeping  her 
secret  to  the  day  of  their  death.  The  bones  were  interred  in 
the  little  cemetery  ;  and  the  apartment,  which  was  now  appro- 
priated for  containing  curiosities,  was  often  viewed  with  inter- 
est, an  having  been  the  scene  of  so  deep  a  tragedy. 

Wallace  had  taken  his  departure  from  their  vicinity,  and  An- 
na was  longing  for  the  period  which  would  again  bring  him 
back  to  her,  when  Alfred  returned,  and  they  received  an  invi- 
tation from  their  aunt  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  sprint  in 
Berlin,  during  which  time  the  workmen  could  complete  their 
task,  while  they  could  enjoy  the  society  of  their  old  friends,  Mr. 
Everett  an  1  his  lovely  wife,  who  were  daily  expected  in  the 
Capital,  where  they  would  remain  to  christen  a  little  Lydia 
Beatrice,  about  a  month  old,  previous  to  their  departure  for 
Philadelphia. 

By  the  time  they  reached  their  aunt's,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Everett 
had  arrived.  The  charming  Beatrice  looked  much  the  same  as 
when  she  left  them,  but  Anna  could  scarcely  believe  her  hus- 
band beside  her,  to  be  the  minister  she  had  once  known  with- 
in the  limits  of  Mrs.  Gilbert's  gloomy  abode,  for  the  face  that 
bad  haunted  those  confines  had  been  pale  and  ghostdike,  while 
the  man  before  her  was  the  picture  of  joy  and  mirth.  He  often 
chided  Beatrice  for  loving  too  dearly  their  little  daughter,  while 
it  was  only  too  evident,  as  he  gazed  ardently  upon  the  little 
beauty,  what  an  idol  he  made  of  her  himself. 

It  was  the  sixth  of  May,  the  wedding  day  of  Lydia  and  also 
the  anniversary  of  her  birth-day,  when  she  attained  her  twenty- 
first  year.  Few  marriages  have  been  anticipated  with  greater 
pleasure,  or  attended  with  more  interest  than  hers,  and  in- 
numerable were  the  blessings  invoked  by  the  circle  of  friends 
upon  the  beautiful  bride  and  her  noble  husband,  as  they  took 
their  departure,  to  return  in  a  short  time,  and  occupy  the  resi- 
dence bequeathed  to  Lydia  by  her  grandfather.  Mrs.  Villiers 
had  chosen  to  live  principally  with  Carlotta,  at  La  Belle,  her 
native  spot,  although  Lydia  had  had  rooms  set  apart  for  her 
mother,  that  she  and  Clarence  might  claim  her  for  a  few  months 
of  the  year. 

"  Anna,  don't  you  think  that  Estelle  is  a  very  fine  looking 
girl?"  said  Carlotta,  as  she  led  her  cousin  into  the  drawing- 
room,  after  the  bridal  pair  had  left. 

'  Estelle '?    I   have   heard  of  her,  but  it  has  always  so  hap- 


364  a  spin'stf.r's  story. 

pened  that  T  have  not  beep  able  to  meet  her  until  to-day,  and  I 
was  so  much  occupie  1  in  thinking  of  Lydia,  that  I  don't  remem- 
ber which  young  lady  you  introduced  by  that  name." 

"  Oh  well,  I  suppose  you  will  soon  he  better  acquainted,  for 

Alfred  is  such  an   intimate  friend  of  Mr.  Grovenor,  and  it  is  ho 

who  has  solicited   of  the  count,  the  hand  of  Estelle  ;  so  that, 

should   he  be  successful  as  is  must   probable  he  will,  wo  shall 

Wallace  ami  his  wife  at  La  Belle." 

Anna  sun!;  into  a  .-oat,  ami  for  some  time  could  say  nothing. 
Carlotta,  who  was  not  a  girl  of  much  penetration,  did  not  no- 
tice the  change  that  had  come  over  her  cousin,  but  continued 
to  chat  upon  various  matters,  until  Anna,  who  had  partly  re- 
covered herself,  inquired,  "  Lottie,  are  they  very  much  attach- 
ed ?     I  mean  Wallace  and  Estelle." 

"  Well,  I  can't  speak  for  Estelle,  hut  I  know  he  is  passion- 
ately fond  of  her;  .0,.  most  devoted,  ami  no  wonder,  there's 
not  a  more  beautiful  character  than  Estelle's." 

"Then  she  too  must  love  him  !  "  thought  Anna,  "for  such 
a  girl  could  not  be  blind  to  his  attractions  !  But  oh  Wallace, 
how  base  !  how  could  you  act  such  a  false  part?  Who  is  there 
who  seems  to  possess  such  talent  as  yours  ?  And  yet  you  could 
stoop  to  such  a  meanness  !  Oh,  how  cruel,  how  unfeeling  ! 
and  yet  with  all  your  faults  you  are  to  me,  Wallace,  as  ever  !  " 

She  endeavored  to  control  her  feelings,  ami  appear  interested 
in  the  conversation  of  Carlotta,  but  the  attempt  was  useless, 
and  complaining  of  illness,  she  begged  them  to  excuse  her, 
while  she  shut  herself  in  the  room  that  was  always  set  aside  for 
her. 

Anna  longed  to  see  Estelle,  that  she  might  gaze  long  upon 
her  who  was  the  idol  of  Wallace,  and  often,  with  no  other  mo- 
tive, would  accompany  her  cousin  to  the  party  or  opera  ;  but  so 
far  it  had  happened  that  she  had  never  succeeded  in  finding 
there  the  object  of  her  search.  Fearing  she  should  not  long  be 
able  to  conceal  her  unhappiness,  she  desired  to  return  home, 
and  although  she  felt  sorry  to  be  absent  from  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ev- 
erett, whose  stay  in  Berlin  would  not  be  very  long,  she  left, 
with  her  father,  for  the  chateau. 

It  was  a  delightful  morning  in  the  middle  of  summer,  and 
the  gardens  of  La  Belle,  from  their  many  improvements  dur- 
ing the  spring,  looked  more  beautiful  than  ever.  Anna  had 
been  confined  to  her  room  for  more  than  a  month,  and  had  taken 
little  pleasure  in  anything,  while  her  father,  believing  the  cause 
of  her  indisposition  to  be  wholly  physical,  made  every  exertion 


a  spinster's  story.  365 

to  persuade  her  to  try  change  of  air,  until,  finding  all  such  pro- 
positiona  were  irksome  to  her,  he  ceased  to  urge  her,  still  using 
every  endeavor  to  amuse  and  interest  her ;  and  it  was  to  com- 
ply with  his  request  that  she  left  her  room  this  morning  to  view 
some  foreign  plants  in  the  conservatory.  She  was  busily  en- 
gaged pressing  some  choice  ferns  for  Beatrice,  that  the  latter 
might  cany  to  their  parsonage  in  Philadelphia  a  souvenir  of  La 
Belle,  which  place  she  was  to  visit,  this  afternoon  for  the  last 
time, —  for  the  sweet  little  Lyddie  hail  been  christened  with  all 
due  ceremony,  and  tbey  were  shortly  to  take  their  departure. 

Anna  had  not  been  seated  long  at  her  work  when  she  heard 
the  distant  rumbling  of  wheels,  but  knowing  ber  friends  could 
not  be  expected  so  early,  thought  no  more  about  it,  until  a  fa- 
miliar footstep  made  tin;  ferns  fall  from  her  hands,  and  looking 
up,  she  encountered  Wallace.  To  Anna  there  was  always  some- 
thing bewitching  in  the  expression  of  that  face,  and  it  had  never 
appeared  more  interesting  than  now ;  the  glossy  black  locks 
fell  in  profusion  round  the  fine  clear  brow,  beneath  which  the 
full,  dark  eyes  danced  joyously,  contrasting  greatly  with  the 
glow  of  health  the  air  of  the  morning  had  painted. 

"  Why  dearest,  what  ails  you  ?  Where  did  you  borrow  such 
a  pale  face  ?  Do  tell  me  what's  the  matter'.'  "  He  seated  him- 
self beside  her,  and  carefully  placing  the  ferns  upon  a  table, 
took  the  trembling  hand  within  his  own,  and  drew  her  towards 
him. 

"  Leave  me  !  "  exclaimed  Anna,  extricating  herself  from  his 
embrace,  "  it  matters  not  to  you  whether  I  am  dead  or  living, 
you  care  not  for  me,  you  are  false  —  go  ! " 

"  I  don't  understand  you  ;  are  you  angry  because  I've  not 
been  here  lately?  Indeed,  I've  been  very  much  engaged, — " 

"  I've  no  doubt  of  it, — " 

"  See,  you  are  spoiling  your  ferns,"  added  he  kindly,  "  let 
me  assist  you  in  arranging  them,  you  know  it  is  my  greatest 
pleasure  to  do  anything  for  Anna." 

"  What,  Wallace  !  utter  nothing  so  false  to  me.  Go  back  to 
her  you  prefer,  and  be  all  you  have  promised,  but  never  let  me 
see  you  again  !  Go  !  and  don't  requite  her  love  as  you  have 
that  of  the  unfortunate  Anna;  be  yourself,  Wallace.  Be 
prompted  by  nobler  motives  than  to  trifle  with  those  who  would 
have  yielded  life  itself  for  you  !  " 

"  But  I  know  not  to  whom  you  refer.  You  are  the  only  one, 
to  my  knowledge,  who  has  any  regard  for  me,  so  you  see  you 
have  been  misinformed  ;  you,  Anna,  are  the  only  one  I  care 
anything  for." 


366  a  spinster's  story. 

•■  Ami  do  you  make  no  declarations  to  Estelle?" 
For  the  firsl    time    Wallace  manifested   embarrassment  but 
shaking    it   off  he  added   with  an  air  of  careless  indifference, 

••  Y'ih  can  think  anything  you  like,  my  dear,  it  will  not  trouble 

in  •."' 

"Wallace,  leave  me  !  never  speak  to  me  again,  I  will  not 
own  your  acquaintance,  you're  not  worthy  of  a  friend  —  be- 
gone '.  " 

"  I  can  easily  do  that,''  was  his  read)'  rejoinder,  and  soon  the 
soun  I  of  wheels  in  tin;  distance  fell  upon  the  ear  of  Anna,  who 
Stoo  1  as  one  paralyzed,  upon  the  sput  where  he  had  left  her. 

The  afternoon  brought  the  visitors,  together  with  the  widow 
and  Carlotta,  nor  were  the  tender  sympathies  expressed  for  the 
pah;  face,  ami  kind  influence  of  the  aunt,  without  effect  upon 
the  unhappy  Anna.  Mrs.  Villiers  applied  remedies  to  the 
aching  head,  Carlotta  enlivened  her  with  her  merry  chit-chat, 
and  the  lovely  Beatrice  captivated  her  with  her  song  ;  so  that 
by  the  evening  Anna  had  forgotten  in  a  measure  her  wretched- 
ness, and  joined  with  the  rest  in  the  spirit  of  the  hour  ;  but  al- 
though  everything  was  done  to  divert  her  during  the  day,  no 
sooner  was  the  "  good-night "  said,  than  she  repaired  to  the 
solitude  of  her  room,  with  the  burden  undiminished,  for  the 
days  and  weeks  as  they  rolled  seemed  only  to  increase  the  bar- 
rier between  her  and  her  soul's  idol,  which  sleeping  or  wak- 
ing was  ever  pictured  to  her  fancy  ;  though  she  had  spurn- 
ed him  from  her  presence,  and  refused  him  a  resting  place  under 
the  same  roof  with  her,  still  she  loved  him  with  an  idolatry  that 
alarmed  her  as  she  dwelt  upon  it.  As  she  thought  of  the  boy- 
ish, mischievous  spirit  that  ever  characterized  him,  she  looked 
upon  his  conduct  to  her  as  a  mere  freak  of  the  playful,  rogue- 
is!i  impulse  that  always  actuated  him  ;  she  believed  many  others 
to  have  done  the  same,  and  that  what  she  looked  upon  as  a 
cruelty  and  a  crime,  was  on  his  part  no  more  than  a  rash  act, 
executed  without  further  premeditation,  upon  the  sportive  spirit 
of  the  moment.  She  reproached  herself  for  the  harsh  words 
she  had  spoken,  and  longed  for  an  opportunity  when  she  might 
make  retribution  ;  but  she  had  forbidden  him  to  speak  to  her, — 
it  was  the  agreement,  and  could  she  be  the  first  to  break  it  ? 
Still,  although  she  had  made  herself  an  outcast  from  his  circle 
of  friends,  and  all  hope  of  reconciliation  was  at  an  end,  there 
were  moments  of  reprieve  from  her  misery,  when  thinking  of 
Estelle.  She  delighted  to  imagine  her  all  that  was  devoted  to 
t!ie  impassionate  Wallace,  and  would  eagerly  have  thrown  her- 
self into   her  presence,  beseeching  her  to  appreciate  iu  the  full, 


a  spinstjie'S  story.  367 

the  warmth  and  ardor  of  the  love  that  was  bo  largely  lavished 
upon  her,  earnestly  requesting  her  to  overlook  his  faults,  and  be 
carefully  considerate  of  his  every  comfort  and  happiness. 

"  Oh,  Lottie,  I've  neglected  to  show  you  something,"  said 
she  to  her  cousin,  the  evening  before  the  departure  of  the  guests. 
She  led  the  way  to  an  apartment  which  was  to  be  Carlotta's 
dressing-room,  saying,  "See,  Alfred  has  had  it  newly  frescoed, 
tell  me  how  you  like  this  design  of  his?  He  will  be  sure  to  ask 
us  if  it  [.leased  you." 

"  Oh  Anna,  how  exquisite  !  I  have  oftea  thought  nothing 
could  surpass  a  visitor's  room  in  the  house  of  Lady  Douglas,  but 
indeed  our  friends  will  he  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  the  little 
Mrs.  Wentworth  has  one  far  superior.  But,  oh  coz,  while  I 
think  of  it,  Lady  Douglas  is  to  give  another  literary  soiree  three 
weeks  from  now,  do  come,  see,  here's  the  invitation.  Keep  it  in 
case  you  might  forget  the  date." 

"  Most  of  your  friends  attend  them,  don't  they  ?  "  hoping  to 
hear  whether  Estelle  would  be  there. 

"  Oh  yes ;  they're  very  entertaining,  don't  you  remember 
the  last ':  But  now  I  come  to  recollect,  you  were  not  there,  it 
was  while  you  were  ill ;  well,  there  was  a  beautiful  little  poem 
entitled  '  Les  Malheureux'  read  to  us,  and  it  proved  to  be  one 
of  Este lie's,  written  for  the  occasion  by  the  special  request  of 
one  of  her  friends,  who  is  I  believe  a  relative  of  the  baron." 

"  Yes,  Lottie,  I  will  come,  and  don't  forget  to  show  me  this 
daughter  of  the  Count  Castello." 

"  Oh,  but  have  you  not  heard  the  sad  news  about  her?  I 
thought  you  would  certainly  have  learned  it  from  Wallace  ;  you 
see  we've  so  often  had  strangers  with  us  during  our  stay,  that 
the  subject  has  not  been  mentioned.  Anna,  Estelle  is  danger- 
ously ill.  I  hope  there  will  be  a  change  for  the  better  before 
we  write  to  our  tourists,  such  tidings  will  grieve  them  so  much." 

Although  Anna  had  no  further  wish  to  attend  the  soiree,  as 
she  could  not  confess  the  truth  to  her  cousin,  she  was  obliged  on 
bidding  her  good-by,  to  promise  to  be  in  Berlin  at  the  time  ap- 
pointed. 

The  guests  had  gone,  but  Anna  was  far  less  lonely  and 
wretched  than  she  had  been  for  a  long  time  ;  a  gleam  of  hope 
had  illumined  the  benighted  spirit,  and  the  future  seemed  bright 
and  joyous;  but  as  the  evening  closed,  and  she  repaired  to  the 
seclusion  of  her  chamber,  the  shades  of  night  brought  more  se 
rious  reflections,. and  as  she  was  about  to  offer  up  the  last  tribute 
of  the  day,  she  began  to  consider  for  the  first  time  upon  what 
foundation    she    had   built   these    hopes.     Horror-stricken  she 


368  a  spinster's  story. 

shrunk  from  the  thought,  and  loathed  herself  as  she  remember- 
ed tin-  sin  Bhe  bad  committed,  for  it  had  been  a  prospect  <>'  the 
death  of  the  noble  Estelle,  over  which  she  bad  bo  exulted  ,  and 
now  what  would  she  not  have  given  to  have  made  retribution 
for  the  crime  of  which  she  was  guilty  ;  the  sixth  commandment 
of  God  ha  I  been  broken.  The  enormity  of  the  sin  was  now 
open  before  her.  Feeling  herself  too  unworthy  to  pray,  and  too 
wretched  to  sleep,  she  passed  the  night  in  uncontrollable  grief, 
yielding  herself  to  the  misery  of  despair. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  soiree',  and  at  the  appointed  hour 
Anna  joined  Carlotta,  and  accompanied  her  to  the  house  of 
Lady  Douglas.  As  they  entered,  several  ladies  crowded  round 
them  to  impure  of  Lydia,  who  had  so  lately  been  one  of  the 
belles  of  their  circle.  While  they  were  answering  the  many 
questioners,  a  gentleman  joined  them  and  said,  "Ladies,  there's 
a  very  able  oration  being  delivered  in  the  next  room,  wont  you 
come  and  hear  it  ?  " 

Several  began  to  move  in  the  direction  indicated.  Carlotta 
joined  a  young  lady  with  whom  she  was  speaking,  and  Anna 
mechanically  followed  ;  but  what  was  her  surprise,  when  upon 
entering  the  room,  she  beheld  Wallace  as  the  orator  ;  touched 
by  the  eloquence  of  the  speaker,  she  stood  spell-bound,  gazing 
upon  him.  The  oration  was  finished,  and  Carlotta  endeavored 
to  call  her  attention,  an  attempt  which  had  often  failed  ;  at  last 
she  started  at  the  touch  of  the  fan  upon  her  arm,  and  turning 
to  her  cousin  exclaimed,  "  What,  Lottie  ?  pardon  me,  darling, 
I  was  thinking  of  something  else." 

"  Why,  look  !  there  is  the  idol  of  your  friend  Wallace." 

"  Who  ?  Where  V  Then  Estelle  was  not  to  die, —  oh,  I'm  so 
glad!  " 

"  Oh,  Anna,"  whispered  Carlotta,  scarcely  able  to  repress  a 
laugh,  "  well,  it  doesn't  seem  very  much  like  it  when  she  has 
grown  rapidly  better,  but  I  thought  you  often  saw  Wallace,  and 
would  have  inquired  of  him  ;  yes,  this  is  the  first  evening  she 
has  come  out.  1  expect  he  dragged  her  here,  he's  very  proud 
of  being  seen  in  her  company." 

"  But  where  —  show  her  to  me  — no  Lottie,  I  don't  wish  to 
be  presented  to  her,  only  show  me  which  is  Estelle." 

Carlotta  again  pointed  out  the  figure,  and  Anna's  eyes  were 
soon  riveted  upon  the  object  she  bad  so  often  longed  to  behold. 
Apart  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  leaning  against  a  pillar, 
stood  Estelle;  her  cheek  resting  upon  her  hand,  while  she  con- 
tinued to  gaze  upon  the  platform  Wallace  had  just  left.     From 


a  spinster's  story.  369 

her  present  posilion.  Anna  could  obtain  only  a  side  view  of  tho 
face,  but  such  was  s  ifficiont  to  convin  •  i  any  gazer  that  t!i  ■  per- 
son of  E^telle  was  no  ordinary  one.  The  figure  was  tall,  round, 
and  well  proportioned  ;  the  complexion  was  of  a  rare  bae,  par- 
taking somewhat  of  a  brunette,  yet  very  clear  and  delicate  ;  the 
dark,  glossy  tresses  wore  parted  over  the  high,  intellectual  brow, 
and  falling  carelessly  over  the  jewelled  ears,  were  looped  up 
from  the  neck  with  a  few  brilliant  gems,  that  glistened  in  their 
purity  among  the  rich,  dark  locks  that  clustered  profusely  round 
the  face.  Soon  a  selection  from  a  comic  opera  was  heard  from 
the  musie-room,  and  all  began  to  leave  the  saloon  ;  but  Estelle 
never  moved,  and  Anna  continuing  to  stand  watching  her  in- 
tently, she  withdrew  her  hand  from  Caclotta's,  and  soon  she 
and  Estelle  were  left  alone  in  the  room.  Presently  Estelle 
gazed  around  her,  and  heaving  a  sigh,  looked  towards  the  door 
near  which  Anna  stood  ;  and  now  the  latter  had  a  full  view  of 
the  face.  ''  How  lovely  a  countenance  !  Beautiful  Estelle  !  " 
said  she  to  herself,  "  no  wonder  he  loves  you !  "  As  she 
turned  away,  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  mirror  before  her,  and  while 
she  caught  a  full  view  of  her  own  little  figure,  the  small,  pale 
face,  flaxen  hair,  and  large  blue  eyes  which  seemed  to  her  so 
wanting  in  expression,  she  turned  from  the  glass  with  disgust, 
and  gazed  again  upon  the  beauty  before  her.  Estelle  was 
standing  as  before,  the  full,  dark  eves  speaking  volumes  as  they 
peered  into  vacancy.  Anna  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  a 
well  known  foot-fall  fell  upon  her  ear.  She  paused,  and  look- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  she  saw  Wallace  entering  the 
saloon  by  the  door  through  which  she  was  about  to  make  her 
retreat.  She  again  concealed  herself  behind  a  pillar,  to  await 
a  better  opportunity.  Approaching  Estelle,  Wallace  bent  over 
her  and  exclaimed,  "  What  alone,  love?  but  you  don't  feel  as 
well  as  when  you  started,"  added  he,  tenderly,  "  come,  and  let 
me  get  something  to  revive  you." 

She  turned  slowly  towards  him,  and  placing  her  hand  upon 
his  arm,  said  with  a  faint  smile,  "  No,  Wallace,  thank  you,  I 
don't  wish  anything,  and  indeed  I  prefer  to  be  here ;  to  be  in 
t!i !  mi  1st  of  the  company  seems  to  make  my  head  ache.  But 
please,"  taking  his  hand  within  her  own,  "  don't  let  me  keep 
you  away  from  every  one.     I  cannot  bear  to  be  so  selfish." 

<(  But  Estelle,  you  know  the  delight  it  gives  me  to  be  near 
you,  and  surely  you  could  not  be  so  unkind  as  to  drive  me 
away !  " 

"  Wallace,  understand  me.  I  want  that  you  should  minglo 
16* 


370  a  spinster's  stobt. 

with  tin'  rest,  and  find  some  one  to  whom  your  society  will  be 
.-in  equal  pleasure." 

"  Ah,  but  dearest,  thai  is  impossible  ;  you  know  I  never  could 
i  any  other  as  I  do  my  favorite  Estelle  !  " 

■■  \'nl  it  is  that  so  distresses  me,  for  have  I  not  always  told 
you  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  return  it."  She  turned  aside, 
and  1   herself  from  the  embrace  ;   but  Wallace   again 

drew  her  towards  him,  and  as  they  changed  their  position,  Anna 
found  she  could  pass  from  the  saloon  unnoticed,  but  spell-bound 
.she  remained  fixed  to  the  spot. 

"  Oh  Estelle,"  continued  Wallace,  "  don't  say  any  more.  If 
you  could  know  with  what  an  adoration  I  look  upon  you,  you 
would  not  continue  to  refuse  me." 

"  But  Wallace,  you  care  for  me  only  because  T  am  called 
handsome,  and  such  a  love  I  look  upon  as  nothing.  I  have  only 
a  pity  for  those  who  esteem  me  merely  for  my  face  or  my  for- 
tune, and  even  did  you  love  me  for  myself  alone,  why  trouble 
me  with  such  a  declaration,  when  I  tell  you  that  my  affections 
have  been  ens;ai>;ed  lonjr,  lona;  ago,  and  will  never  ajrain  be  free? 
No,  never!  " 

"  Oh,  Estelle  !  don't  say  so  !  You  do  not  know  inc.  Why 
will  you  not  listen  and  believe  me,  beautiful  Estelle  ?  But 
come,  love,"  drawing  her  arm  within  his  own,  "you  are  tired, 
standing  here." 

Estelle  suffered  herself  to  be  led  away,  and  Anna  was  left 
alone  in  the  large  saloon.  "  Oh  Estelle  !  cruel  Estelle  !  How 
can  you  be  dead  to  such  an  appeal !  how  can  you  look  into  that 
anxious  countenance,  and  refuse  to  listen?  Or  hear  the  words 
of  such  an  earnest,  ardent  love  and  not  be  drawn  towards 
the  one  who  would  yield  his  very  life  for  you  ?  Oh  Estelle, 
there  is  none  so  interesting  as  Wallace  !  Forget  all  other  ties  — 
take  compassion  on  him  ;  such  a  nature  as  his  craves  for  some 
one  to  love  him,  oh  Estelle,  be  no  longer  so  unkind  !  Take  pity  !  " 

"  Why,  Anna,  to  whom  were  you  speaking?  " 

"  Oh  Lottie,  to  no  one ;  you  see  I  was  so  long  a  recluse,  that 
I  still  foster  solitude.  I  must  have  been  uttering  my  thoughts 
aloud,  but  they  were  nothing  important.  Come,  let  us  go.  But 
why  did  not  Beatrice  come  to-night  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  thought  ma  told  you, —  Beatrice  is  to  ill  to  leave  her 
room,  but  we  hope  it  is  only  a  slight  disorder.  Come,  coz,  and 
see  the  tableau." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"Know'st  thou  for  whom  they  sang  the  bridal  numbers? 
Ono  whose  rich  tresses  were  to  wave  no  more! 
One  whose  pale  ch  :ek,  soft  winds,  nor  gentle  slumbers. 
Nor  love's  own  si:,rh  to  rose  tints  might  restore  ! 
Her  graceful  ringlets  o'er  a  bier  were  spread  : 
Weep  for  the  young,  the  beautiful, —  the  dead!  " 

It  was  now  autumn,  and  the  alterations  at  La  Belle  were  at 
last  completed;  to  any  but  a  close  observer,  its  beauty  might 
seem  but  little  enhanced,  still,  none  could  examine  it  without 
finding  many  changes,  among  which  that  of  the  moat  being  ex- 
changed  for  a  grassy  mound  that  flourished  in  its  stead.  Al- 
fred was  not  expected  at  home  during  this  season,  and  they 
were  not  a  little  astonished  one  evening  to  see  him  enter,  ex- 
claiming, "  Oh,  I  just  dropped  in  on  my  way  to  Belgium,  to  see 
how  the  improvements  looked  by  this  time  ;  and  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  bring  Lottie  with  me  to  hear  what  her  taste  was 
in  regard  to  the  furniture.  She's  in  the  hall  taking  off  her  clogs, 
you  know  We  always  prefer  to  walk  part  of  the  way." 

Carlotta  brought  the  joyful  news  that  Lydia  was  daily  ex- 
pected, yet  was  obliged  to  add  the  painful  tidings  that  the  be- 
loved Beatrice  was  no  better,  though  it  was  still  declared  that 
her  indisposition  was  a  slight  one  ;  however,  it  had  been  decided 
they  should  not  return  to  Philadelphia  until  the  spring,  so  that 
much  hope  was  entertained  of  seeing  the  favorite  in  perfect 
health  before  that  period. 

"  Oh,  beautiful  La  Belle !  "  exclaimed  Carlotta,  as  she 
gazed  around  her,  i:  Anna,  I've  been  thinking  that  this  place 
is  scarcely  less  attractive,  surrounded  by  its  leafless  branches, 
than  when  variegated  by  the  glories  of  summer.  But  see  ! 
surely  there's  some  one  in  distress  upon  that  mountain  side, — yes, 
it  must  be,  for  Alfred  is  hastening  towards  them.  I  wonder 
who  it  is  !  " 

The  bell  rang  for  tea,  and  Anna  left  her  cousin  standing 
looking  from  the  window,  while  she  went  to  see  if  the  lights 
were  all  duly  arranged  to  her  taste,  and  everything  in  order 
before  summoning  the  rest  to  the  parlor  ;  for  previous  to  her 
introduction  to  Wallace,  she  had  prided  herself  upon  the  com- 
pliments her  father  so  often  lavished  upon  the  little  housekeeper, 
for   her  attention  to  the  comforts  of  the   chateau,  and   although 


372  A    SriNSTKUS    STOBT. 

she  now  took  bat  little  pleasure  in  anything,  she  had  not  be- 
come wholly  indifferent  to  this.  Sh  i  bad  not  remained  long  in 
the  room,  when  the  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  Alfred 
entered,  exclaiming,  "  Here,  I've  found  this  fellow  in  a  pretty 
plight, — ■  horse  unmanageable,  chaise  broken,  and  for  aught  I 
know,  also,  every  limb  of  the  occupant." 

•'  Dreadful  !  "  cried  Anna,  "  what  can  we  do  for  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  All',"  said  a  familiar  voice  upon  the  stairs,  "noth- 
ing of  consequence  is  broken,  but  the  spirit  of  that  new  horse." 

AJfred  and  Carlotta  now  led  Wallace  into  the  room,  the 
former  exclaiming,  "  Here's  Anna,  now  you  will  soon  lie  cured. 
Ladies  are  the  best  nurses,  you  know  ;  but  I  must  go  and  look 
to  that  wild  animal  out  there;  "  and  he  instantly  left  them. 

Wallace  undoubtedly  understood  how  painful  was  Anna's 
embarrassment,  for,  appearing  not  to  notice  her,  he  turned  to 
Carlotta,  and  thanking  her  for  her  attention,  added,  "  I  was 
only  a  little  faint,  after  I  have  rested  awhile  I  shall  be  able  to 
go  on  my  way." 

He  sat  down  and  seemed  much  exhausted,  while  the  blood 
flowed  rapidly  from  a  wound  upon  the  temple.  Anna  imme- 
diately attempted  to  apply  a  bandage,  but  turning  from  her,  he 
again  said  something  to  Carlotta,  who  was  too  much  engaged  to 
notice  they  had  not  spoken,  and  Anna  was  forced  to  see  the 
wound  of  the  beloved  Wallace  dressed  by  other  hands  than  her 
own.  Declaring  himself  recovered,  he  was  in  the  act  of  leav- 
ing, when  Mr.  Wentworth  entered,  and  pronounced  It  most  pre- 
posterous to  think  of  venturing  over  the  mountain  with  such  a 
horse  at  that  hour,  and  as  Wallace  gave  no  reason  for  the  ur- 
gency of  the  case,  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  remain  until  the 
following  day.  The  evening  passed  less  awkwardly  for  Anna 
than  might  have  been  expected,  for  every  occasion  to  bring  her 
in  contact  with  Wallace  was  carefully  frustrated  by  him,  and  so 
scientifically  did  they  take  part  in  the  conversation,  that  no  one 
present  observed  they  neither  mentioned  or  addressed  each 
other.  Wallace  was  jovial  as  usual,  his  wit  and  ready  puns 
flowing  as  freely  as  ever,  often  convulsing  the  whole  with 
laughter.  He  was  a  good  singer,  and  in  the  course  of  the 
evening  sung  several  comic  melodies,  and  joined  with  much 
spirit  in  whatever  was  introduced  ;  so  that  it  was  late  when 
they  arose  to  separate  for  the  night,  and  passed  in  their  respe- 
tive  directions  along  the  spacious  halls,  leaving  Anna  to  brood 
over  her  own  thoughts  in  the  room  in  the  wing. 

Having  passed  a  sleepless  night  she  went  the  next  morning 
at  the  usual  hour  to  the   breakfast-room ;  all   were  there   but 


a  spinster's  story.  373 

Wallace,  and  she  hoped  as  he  entered  he  might  forget  to  omit 
her  in  his  morning  salutation,  so  distress  •  1  was  she  to  be  it  him 
address  in  kind  words  one  after  another  excepting  only  her- 
self, who  would  have  appreciated  them  more  than  they  all ;  but 
soon  Wallace  entered,  and  she  was  obliged  to  discover  that  in 
this  respect  he  was  neither  negligent  or  forgetful,  for  he  as  care- 
fully avoided  her  now,  as  he  had  done  the  evening  be 

An  early  luncheon  had  been  taken,  to  afford  the  travellers 
'i  i!  •  t  i  meet  the  train.  Wallace  was  out  with  Mr.  Wentworth 
viewing  some  improvements  in  the  grounds,  Carlotta  and  Alfred 
had  left  the  room  together,  probably  that  they  might  pass  the 
last  hour  of  his  stay  uninterrupted,  and  Anna  was  left  alone. 
Unable  to  fix  her  attention  upon  anything,  she  wandered  from 
room  to  room,  as  if  in  search  of  some  diversion,  and  at,  last  de- 
scended the  stall's  again,  and  entering  one  of  the  parlors,  took 
her  place  at  a  window,  and  stood  gazing  out  upon  the  land- 
scape. The  sun  was  now  in  the  zenith,  and  a  golden  gleam 
tinted  those  cloud  capped  towers,  that  rose  in  majestic  succes- 
sion tar  off  in  the  distance  ;  but  Anna  took  no  notice  of  this, 
her  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  Wallace  Was  soon  to  take  his 
departure  ;  whither  was  he  going  ?  How  long  to  be  away  ? 
A  remark  he  had  dropped  to  Alfred,  would  admit  that  he  ex- 
pected to  be  absent  a  long  time,  perhaps  that  cruel  Estelle  had 
still  refused  to  hear  the  declaration  of  his  love,  and  in  ins  des- 
pair he  resolved  to  leave  his  native  Ian  1,  to  wan  ler  as  an  exile 
in  some  foreign  clime.  Sickness  might  attack  him  ; —  who  would 
be  near  to  minister  to  the  parched  lips,  or  lay  the  hand  of  sym- 
pathy upon  the  aching  brow,  to  whisper  a  word  of  comfort,  to 
tell  there  was  one  on  earth  who  could  never  cease  to  love  him, 
or  to  point  to  a  better  consolation  above  the  frail,  weak  coin- 
forters  of  earth,  to  remind  there  is  a  home  for  the  weary,  far 
off  in  the  new  Jerusalem  '!  Or,  while  yet  unprepared,  death 
might  apprise  him  ;  who  then  would  stand  beside  that  loved  one, 
ami  assure  there  was  pardon  for  the  sinner,  even  at  the  eleventh 
hour  ?  Not  one,  perhaps  ;  while  alone,  and  uncared  for,  he 
might  die  in  the  land  of  the  stranger,  and  uncouth  hands  place 
that  cherished  form  in  the  cold  grave  of  charity  !  To  have  fol- 
lowed at  a  distance,  and  learned  the  fate  of  the  loved  one  would 
have  been  ecstacy  ;  but  no,  he  must  go  alone,  ami  she  remain 
beliind  to  mourn  his  loss.  But  what  did  he  think  of  her? — that 
she  felt  unkindly  towards  him?  But  he  should  not  leave  with 
such  an  impression.  13efore  he  left  that  roof,  he  should  learn 
she  was  a  friend,  and  no  euemy ;  she  would  steel  herself  for  the 
moment,  and  speak  to  him  !     There  was  a  foot-fall  in  the  hall, 


;;,  t  a  spixster's  btoby. 

her  breatn  came  more  quickly,  and  her  determination  to  speak 
to  him  had  half  forsaken  her,  when  be  entered  the;  room.  She 
bad  sunk  apon  an  ottoman  in  the  large  hay  window  near  which 
she  IkhI  been  Btanding,  and  now  coocealed  by  the  curtains, 
could  watch  unobserved  all  that  was  passing  in  the  room. 
Crossing  the  floor,  Wallace  took  up  a  paper,  and  having  select- 
ed  a  paragraph,  stood  a  few  moments  to  read  ;  his  face  was 
turned  towards  her,  and  its  expression  was  that  of  anxiety  and 
embarassment.  Throwing  down  the  paper,  he  remained  lost  in 
contemplation  ;  then  heaving  a  sigh,  turned  to  depart.  With- 
out waiting  for  a  second  thought,  Anna  suddenly  emerged  from 
her  hiding-place,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  stay  one  minute  —  do  for 
pity's  sake  —  it's  my  last,  my  only  request !  "  He  started  at 
the  sound  of  the  voice,  and  turning  round,  gazed  upon  her  in 
astonishment,  then  said  in  a  cold,  respectful  tone,  "  What  do 
you  want  with  me.  Miss  Wentworth  ?" 

"  Oh,  speak  to  me  !  just  one  word,  but  in  kindness,-  do  — 
I  ask  no  more  —  oh,  wont  you  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  But  you  have  forbidden  me  to  speak  to  you,  and  I  don't 
wish  you  to  recall  your  words  ;  "  and  he  turned  again  to  leave. 

"  Oh,  Wallace,  don't  leave  me  !  stay  one  moment !  there's 
nothing  I  would  not  willingly  do  for  you,  and  will  you  not 
grant  me  one  moment?  Oh,  do  —  stay  —  believe  me,  indeed 
I  am  sorry  for  the  harsh  words  I  have  spoken.  I  expected  too 
much  of  you,  for  I  looked  for  a  return  of  all  the  love  I  so  pas- 
sionately lavished  upon  you.  I  now  see  my  error,  I  confess  it  ; 
an  1  think  what  you  will  of  me  —  spurn  me  from  you  for  my 
weakness  —  despise  me  for  my  folly,  only  speak  one  kind  word 
to  me!  Tell  me  you  will  acknowledge  me  —  own  me  as  a 
friend  — tell  me  you  will  not  extend  the  hand  to  all  others,  and 
leave  me  the  only  exception  — tell  me  you  know  I  care  for  you 
—  that  I  love  you  as  ever!  Wallace,  speak  to  me!"  She 
ha  1  thrown  herself  at  his  feet,  and  now  burying  her  face  in  the 
skirts  of  his  cloak,  burst  into  tears. 

•'  Anna,  I  would  have  no  girl  lose  her  dignity  for  me,  you 
are  not  yourself,  you  speak  without  judgment ;  indulge  no 
longer  in  Mich  as  this.  Calm  yourself."  He  spoke  in  a  firm. 
but  cold  tone,  then  paused,  and  finding  Anna  did  not  relinquish 
her  hold  of  him,  lifted  the  agitated  girl  from  her  kneeling  pos- 
ture, and  placing  her  tenderly  upon  a  couch,  procured  some 
water,  and  having  bathed  the  throbbing  temples,  kissed  the  pale 
■k  and  left  the  apartment.  Ascending  the  staircase,  Wal- 
lace entered  Alfred's  room,  and  found  him  writing  ;  standing 
for  awhile  engrossed  in  thought,  he  at  last  uttered   several  half 


a  spixstek's  story.  375 

incoherent  sentences,  and  Alfred  closing  his  desk,  burned  to 
him  and  inquired,  "  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean,  Wal- 
lace ?  " 

"  I  mean  it's  impossible  to  find  a  girl  worth  thinking  about. 
They  are  either  proud,  haughty,  and  defiant  ;  or  they  are  those 
weak,  confiding  creatures,  who  entwine  their  affections  round 
you,  until  their  will  is  your  own,  and  in  the  intensity  of  their 
devotion,  they  will  at  last  yield  even  principle  itself  —  anything 
for  you.  No,  there's  not  a  girl  worth  caring  for,  there  are  but 
the  two  extremes.      f  begin  to  hate  girls. 

••  What?"  and  Alfred's  eyes  flashed  as  he  placed  himself 
opposite  his  companion. 

•'  I  mean,  once  possess  their  love,  and  the  whole  soul  is  yours 
to  control  for  your  own  ends,  be  they  what  they  may." 

"  Never!  "  and  Alfred  rushed  from  the  room. 

A  few  minutes  before  he  had  left  Oarlotta  shedding  tears  as 
she  grieved  over  his  constant  departures,  and  now  as  he  remem- 
bered the  meek,  gentle  spirit  of  the  fond  Lottie,  Wallace's 
words  struck  him  forcibly,  and  he  determined  to  satisfy  him- 
self as  to  whether  she  could  be  one  of  those  weak,  pliant,  irreso- 
lute beings  his  friend  had  mentioned  ;  he  determined  to  test  the 
matter.  He  entered  her  room  unperceived,  and  found  her  sort- 
ing some  letters.  All  traces  of  tears  hail  disappeared,  and  she 
was  in  the  act  of  placing  his  last  among  many  of  its  predeces- 
sors, which  were  carefully  tied  in  blue  ribbon,  when  he  ap- 
proached and  said,  "  Oh  Lottie,  love,  I  forgot  something  —  I 
wish  to  know  if  you  are  aware  that  after  we  are  married  we  may 
be  but  little  together  ?  You  know  I  have  chosen  for  life  this 
particular  vocation,  and  nothing  on  earth,  not  even  my  love  for 
my  wife  could  make  me  give  it  up  ;  and  tell  me,  when  you  are 
obliged  to  part  with  me,  will  you  see  me  go  for  years,  perhaps, 
without  murmuring  over  your  hard  lot  ?  " 

"  Alfred,  I  know  yours  is  a  foolish  little  Lottie,"  placing  her 
hand  playfully  upon  his  cheek,  "  yet  she  would  even  urge  you 
to  go.  and  never  wish  to  call  you  back." 

Footsteps  upon  the  stairs  aroused  Anna  from  her  uncon- 
sciousness, and  leaving  the  couch  she  went  to  ascertain  whence 
the  noise  proceeded  ;  the  sight  of  a  valise  and  portmanteau 
bearing  the  initals  of  Wallace,  reminded  her  it  was  the  hour  of 
the  departure.  Soon  Alfred  and  his  companion  were  in  the  hall, 
where  Carlotta  was  waiting  with  a  basket  of  sandwiches;  Al- 
fred had  said  "  good-by,"  and  Wallace  had  taken  the  hand  of 
Carlotta,  and  was  turning  to  the  door,  when  Anna  instantly 
placed  herself  before  it,  and  offering  him  her  hand,  said,   4X  I'll 


.ji  0  A    BPISTSTEB  5  /STuijv. 

bid  vuii  gnod-by."  He  took  the  band,  but  when  she  looked  up 
he  was  gone  ;  still  thai  goo  l-by  was  never  forgotten,  foi  the 
cold,  icy  touch  of  that  band  bad  chilled  her  to  the  heart. 

[t  was  a  bright  and  beautiful  day  that  welcomed  the  return 
of  the  belove  I  Lydia  to  her  many  friends  in  Berlin,  after  her 
six  months' absence  on  her  bridal  tour,  Anna  had  repaired 
with  her  father  to  the  capital,  expecting  to  remain  there 
tune  to  enjoy  the  society  of  her  beautiful  cousin,  but  the  count 
an  1  countess  insisted  that  Clarence  and  his  bride  should  spend 
:  time  with  them,  so  that  her  family  were  forced  to  give 
her  up  for  a  i'vw  week-,  and  Anna  returned  home  t<>  begin  the 
preparations  for  the  Christmas  fete,  when  Alfred  would  again 
gladden  them  with  his  presence,  which  .although  bringing  a 
painful  remembrance  of  Wallace,  could  not  hut  east  around 
even  her  also  a  halo  of  happiness,  for  none  who  love  I  Carlotta 
could  he  uninfluenced  by  the  joyous  spirit  that  animated  her 
whenever  Alfred  was  present. 

The  evening  of  Christmas  arrived  ;  the  chateau  of  La  Belle 
was  brilliantly  illuminated,  and  proved  the  centre  of  attraction 
for  miles  round,  when  the  eager  peasantry  who  had  been  lib- 
erally entertained  by  its  heir  in  the  morning,  were  gathered 
upon  the  mountain  sides  admiring  its  dazzling  beauty.  That 
morning  after  the  guests  bad  been  assembled  in  the  hall,  Al- 
fred led  the  way  through  the  snow-crested  paths  to  the  chapel 
on  the  estate,  where  the  aged  clergyman  welcomed  them  to 
unite  with  him  in  offering  the  services  of  that  holy  festival. 
On  their  return,  donations  and  gifts  were  distributed  among  the 
poor,  and  when  these  grateful  recipients,  took  their  leave,  the 
villa  remained  uninterrupted  for  the  social  enjoyment  of  its  in- 
mates. 

Lydia  had  fairly  compelled  Estelle  to  join  the  party,  ami 
Mrs.  Villiers  bad,  upon  aeeidently  meeting  the  baron,  unthink- 
ingly invited  him  to  be  present  ;  consequently  he  and  Estelle 
were  inevitably  thrown  together  ;  but  their  surprise  was  one  of 
delight,  and  none  who  witnessed  it,  and  knew  their  previous 
history,  regretted  it. 

The  cousins  and  a  few  of  their  most  intimate  friends  were 
standiDg  in  a  group,  when  Beatrice  said  half  inquiringly,  "  It's 
a  pity,  Alfred,  your  friend    Wallace   could   not    be  with   us  to- 

da>" 

*' Oh,  wasn't  it  dreadful,  to  bear  of  his  misfortune?"  ex- 
claimed a  young  lady  who  stood  near. 

"  But  he  has  relations,"  returned  Alfred,  "  why  does  he  not 
claim  their  assistanae  —  they  are  quite  wealthy  ?  " 


a  spinster's  story.  377 

"  Oh,  they  don't  seem  to  care  much  for  him,  and  he  is  too 
independent  to  solicit  their  aid,"   answered  another. 

"  Poor  Wallace  !  "  said  Estelle,  and  her  lip  quivered,  while 
the  full  dark  eyes  dropped  to  the  floor. 

"  Indeed,  it  is  very  sad  for  such  a  gay,  joyous  spirit  as  his 
to  be  damped  by  the  gloomy  confines  of  a  prison  cell ;  "  rejoin- 
ed Alfred  sorrowfully.  Here  they  might  have  heard  a  smother- 
ed exclamation  from  Anna,  had  they  not  been  engrossed  in  the 
words  of  Alfred,  who  continued,  "  I  should  have  contrived  to 
call  upon  him,  although  he  is  so  far  from  here,  had  I  not  thought 
ho  would  soon  be  released,  and  would  ioin  us,  imagining  we 
knew  nothing  of  the  matter  ;  but  to  my  surprise,  I  find  every 
one  seems  acquainted  with  his  misfortune." 

"How  could  he  have  incurred  such  a  debt?"  inquired  a 
young  lady  turning  to  Estelle  ;  but  the  latter  only  shook  her 
head  mournfully,  and  Alfred  again  taking  up  the  subject,  an- 
swered, "  Wallace  is  neither  a  libertine  nor  a  gambler,  but  is 
thoughtlessly  liberal  and  sometimes  extravagant ;  but  surely 
his  friends  must  have  liberated  him  by  this  time." 

"  What  is  the  amount  of  the  debt  for  which  he  is  imprison- 
ed ?  "  and  for  the  first  time  Anna  spoke. 

"  Two  thousand  thalers,"  was  the  reply. 

Anna  left  the  group,  and  although  no  other  subject  was  of 
such  deep  interest  to  her,  she  avoided  mentioning  the  name  of 
Wallace  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

Wallace  and  the  two  thousand  thalers  were  constantly  before 
the  mind  of  Anna;  willingly  would  she  have  beggared  herself 
to  have  remitted  that,  or  any  other  sum  to  the  idol  of  her 
thoughts,  but  she  could  not  disturb  the  fortune  her  father  had 
settled  upon  her,  without  his  being  aware  of  the  fact ;  not  long 
ago  she  had  promised  Lydia  six  hundred  thalers  in  aid  of  a  hos- 
pital, whose  suffering  inmates  the  patrons  desired  to  remove  to 
a  commodious  building,  as  its  lease  had  expired  and  the  pro- 
prietor insisted  upon  disposing  of  the  ground  for  other  purpos- 
es. Many  had  given  liberally ;  still,  as  the  contractors  refused 
to  continue  without  another  large  advance,  it  was  necessary  that 
a  handsome  subscription  should  immediately  be  drawn  up  in 
order  to  complete  the  new  building  before  the  lease  of  the  for- 
mer had  expired,  thus  preventing  the  sufferers  from  being 
placed  at  tin;  mercy  of  the  city  authorities.  But  now  Anna 
had  a  new  subject  to  contemplate,  and  all  thought  of  the  hos- 
pital was  instantly  banished.  Vet,  how  could  the  two  thousand 
thalers  be  obtained  ?     The  six  hundred  she  had  reserved  fur  the 


378  a.  spinster's  story. 

hospital  would  be  scarcely  anything  towards  it.  It  became  a 
Bource  of  great  anxiety  to  her,  for  every  inquiry  of  hers  in  re- 
gard  in  the  prisoner  met  the  same  painful  response,  that  Wal- 
lace was  still  in  confinement ;  and  those  around  her  could  not 
but  DOtice  how  great  a  change  had  wrought  itself  in  her. 

One  evening  she  had  been  some  time  in  silence,  when  her 
work  dropped  from  her  hands,  and  her  countenance  became  the 
picture  of  despair.  At  last  Mr.  Wentworth,  who  had  been  watch- 
ing  her  attentively  several  minutes,  said,  "  Well  my  love,  and 
may  what  troubles  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  nothing,  scarcely,  pa,"  and  she  instantly  resumed  her 
embroidery,  "  L  was  wishing  for  something  I  cannot  have." 

"  Then  if  it  is  almost  nothing,  surely  we  can  soon  get  it ;  tell 
me,  child,  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  But  indeed,  dear  pa,  it's  beyond  my  reach,"  with  a  sigh, 
"  please  think  no  more  about  it." 

"  Anna,  nothing  is  out  of  your  reach  that  could  be  necessary 
to  your  happiness,  as  far  as  1  ran  see." 

"  Ah,  but  t  want  fourteen  hundred  thalers,  pa,  and  then  no 
one  can  know  to  what  purpose  it  is  to  be  appropriated." 

"Fourteen  hundred  thalers!  and  so  that  would  make  you 
happy;  ah,  I  can  guess  —  yes,  I  know ;  it's  for  that  hospital. 
No,  Anna,  it  would  be  inconsiderate  and  rash.  I've  given  some 
hundreds  myself,  and  before  the  winter  is  over  there  will  be 
hosts  of  other  subscription  papers  pushed  before  a  fellow's  eyes. 
No,  Anna,  you  want  judgment." 

At  the  mention  of  the  hospital,  Anna's  thoughts  recurred  to 
it,  and  for  a  moment  she  reproached  herself  for  having  forgotten 
it ;  but  again  Wallace  in  his  prison  cell  arose  before  her,  and 
again  the  other  sufferers  sunk  into  oblivion,  while  she  was  very 
well  content  to  allow  her  father  to  suppose  it  was  none  other 
than  the  hospital  for  which  she  required  that  sum.  Mr.  Went- 
worth arose  and  stood  before  the  fire  with  his  arms  folded,  and 
for  some  time  seemed  lost  in  thought ;  then  uttered  half  to  him- 
self, half  aloud,  ''Ah  !  I  was  once  in  a  hospital  myself!  Well 
child,  if  it  will  remove  that  care-worn  face,  you  can  have  the 
money  ;  get  me  a  pen,  I'll  write  the  check  while  I  think  of 
it." 

As  Anna  took  the  paper,  a  mist  seemed  before  her  eyes,  and 
she  could  scarcely  tell  what  she  did,  so  great  was  her  surprise 
and  delight,  but  by  the  following  day  she  had  awakened  to  the 
reality  that  the  release  of  Wallace  was  in  her  own  hands.  The 
check,  with  the  six  hundred  thalers  in  cash,  was'in  the  follow- 
ing note  : 


a  spinster's  story.  379 

•'  Wallace  : — Please  accept  this  —  no  third  person  will  be  any  the 
■wiser.  Anna." 

The  trembling  hand  then  wrote  the  direction,  and  the  ser- 
vant was  dispatched  with  it  to  the  post. 

Anna  was  in  the  act  of  closing  her  desk,  when  the  door 
opened  and  Lydia  entered.  It  was  now  February,  and  on  ac- 
count of  the  bad  state  of  the  roads,  the  cousins  had  not  met  for 
a  few  weeks ;  a  painful  suspicion  as  to  the  object  of  Lydia's 
visit  flashed  across  the  mind  of  Anna,  but  .she  hail  not  long  to 
wait  in  suspense,  fur  after  folding  her  in  a  fund  embrace,  her 
cousin  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Anna,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  so  well, 
I've  been  expecting  to  hear  from  you,  and  as  no  letter  arrived 
thought  you  must  be  ill,  so  came  post  haste  to  see." 

'•  Why,  nothing  was  the  matter,  dearest,  how  are  all  at 
home  1 " 

"  All  well,  coz  ;  but  Anna,  why  didn't  you  send  your  sub- 
scription '•  You  know  it  must  be  settled  at  once,  and  I  shall  be 
glad  of  yours,  because  then,  a  great  many  young  ladies  will  not 
like  to  give  less  than  you  when  their  means  are  known  to  be 
equal  ;  you  know  what  I  do  makes  no  impression  on  them  as  it 
used  to,  because  I  am  married  now,  and  they  don't  consider 
what  I  give  as  my  own  ;  so  now  you  must  take  the  lead.  Please 
give  it  ■me,  and  I'll  not  wait,  and  indeed  we  shall  be  glad  of  it, 
for  now  that  Clarence  has  given  me  even  more  than  we  can  well 
afford,  we  scarcely  know  what  to  do  for  the  rest." 

Anna  looked  into  the  lovely  face,  and  would  gladly  have 
embosomed  to  the  sweet  Lydia  all  the  misery  that  was  nearly 
overwhelming  her,  but  some  hidden  power  held  her  back,  and 
she  could  only  add,  while  with  difficulty  she  suppressed  the  ris- 
ing emotion,  "  Oh,  Lyddie,  I'm  so  sorry,  but  I  can't  give  what 
I  said  —  I  can't  give  any  !  " 

Upon  hearing  these  words,  her  cousin  gazed  upon  her  in  mute 
astonishment,  and  as  Anna  looked  into  her  face  she  thought  the 
countenance  had  never  seemed  more  lovely  ;  but  soon  disap- 
pointment overshadowed  the  beautiful  features,  and  as  Anna 
thought  upon  the  sadness  that  was  depicted  in  that  sorrowful 
expression,  and  remembered  what  trials  that  cousin  had  so  he- 
roically borne,  it  grieved  her  to  know  she  could  add  one  cloud 
to  the  life  of  her  who  so  well  deserved  a  bright  horizon  ;  but 
though  she  felt  much,  she  could  say  nothing,  and  only  looked 
what  she  felt  to  be,  the  object  of  suffering,  Lydia  saw  it,  but 
she  perceived  also  that  Anna  endeavored  to  conceal  it,  and 
therefore  did  not  ask  the  cause,  but  turning  away,  said,  as  a 
faint  smile  passed  over  the  sweet  face,  "  Well,  we  must  trust 
for  the  best.     Good-by,  dearie." 


380  a  spinster's  story. 

"  Oli,  stay  to  luncheon,  and  undoubtedly  you  will  meet  Lady 
Douglas  in  that  train,  besides,  you  really  ought  not  to  have 
venturod  bo  far  without  your  husband  or  a  maid." 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  a  footman  with  me,  and  shall  soon  be  home. 
I'm  glad  to  hear  Lady  Douglas  has  returned,  most  likely  we 
shall  now  complete  our  subscription  list  ;  "  and  humming  a 
lively  air,  she  kissed  her  cousin,  and  disappeared. 

"  Beautiful  girl  !  "  murmured  Anna,  as  she  watched  the  ve- 
hicle that  bore  her  away,  "  and  the  happy  Lydia,  because  you 
do  right,  and  always  act  with  discretion,  oh  that  the  miserable 
Anna  could  say  the  same  !  " 

The  evening  of  the  following  day  brought  a  despatch  from 
Clarence,  stating  that  a  dear  little  twin  brother  and  sister  were 
added  to  the  number  of  his  household,  and  were  ready  to  re- 
ceive the  welcome  of  their  relations  at  La  Belle,  whenever  they 
liked  to  take  a  peep  at  the  new  comers. 

The  next  morning  found  Anna  at  the  house  of  her  cousin. 
The  subject  of  the  subscription  had  troubled  her  exceedingly, 
and  having  passed  a  restless  night,  during  which  she  saw  in  her 
visions  many  a  poor  sufferer  carried  from  the  hospital  into  the 
street,  to  await  the  compassion  of  charity,  she  was  anxious  to 
hear  what  had  been  the  result  of  Lydia's  interview  with  Lady 
Douglas.  Stealing  softly  into  her  cousin's  room,  she  found  Ly- 
dia sleeping  ;  near  her  couch  was  a  small  table  containing  a 
Bible  and  prayer-book,  and  early  as  it  was,  it  was  evident  from 
their  position,  that  Clarence  had  knelt  in  this  chamber  to  lead 
in  the  devotions  of  the  morning.  A  door  that  led  into  an  adjoin- 
ing room  was  open,  and  disclosed  the  nurses  watching  the  little 
cherubs  who  were  sweetly  sleeping  side  by  side  in  a  cradle  at 
their  feet.  Clarence  entered,  and  not  perceiving  Anna,  ap- 
proached the  couch,  and  bending  over  the  sleeper,  gazed  fondly 
upon  the  countenance  ;  then  passing  into  the  next  room,  press- 
ed the  little  twins  to  his  bosom,  and  re-entering  the  chamber, 
took  his  seat  beside  his  beloved  Lydia.  Taking  a  paper  from 
his  pocket,  he  glanced  at  it  with  a  troubled  expression,  and 
heaved  a  sigh.  Lydia's  eyes  opened,  and  immediately  fell 
upon  the  paper;  "  Oh  Clarence,  is  the  amount  furnished '!  No, 
i  can  tell  by  your  countenance  it  has  been  unsuccessful ;  and 
to-morrow  is  the  awful  day.  (  Ml  dear  !  what  will  become  of  them  ! 
;;nd  here  am  1  surrounded  by  an  affectionate  husband  and  skill- 
ful physicians,  while  they  must  perish!  Oh.it  is  too  dreadful ! 
She  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  not  all  the  efforts  of  her 
husband  <:ould  console  her.      Unable  longer  to  witness  her  dis- 


a  spinster's  story.  381 

tress,  Anna  took  up  the  paper  which  Clarence  had  thrown  aside, 
ami  looking  over  the  list,  saw  the  amount  of  one,  and  two  1V1- 
lers,  attached  to  the   names  of  those   who  bad   always   before 

given  many  times  as  much.  "  And  I  am  the  cause  of  it  !  " 
murmured  Bhe  as  she  bitterly  reproache  i  herself,  "  ami  Lydia, 
who  has  ever  been  such  a  dear  friend,  will  surely  despise  me  !  " 
Bat  great  was  her  surprise  when,  as  Lydia  perceived  her,  she 
exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Anna,  come  near  dear  coz, —  if  our  little  girl 
lives,  you  must  he  a  godmother  to  her,  and  name  her  after  your- 
self." A  few  days  after,  as  Anna  was  about  to  take  her  leave 
of  Lydia  for  a  short  time,  a  visitor  was  announced,  ami 
entered  the  parlor  Estclle  rose  to  meet  her.  Longing  to  know 
whether  Wallace  was  set  free,  she  thought  this  a  good  oppor- 
tunity of  ascertaining,  and  carefully  broaching  the  subject,  en- 
deavoring to  appear  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  matter,  she  in- 
quired if  she  had  heard  any  mention  of  him  lately. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Estelle  with  much  animation,  "  I  heard 
the  joyful  news  that  he  was  released,  so  some  of  his  relations 
have  befriended  him  at  last.  I  was  very  glad  to  hear  it,  Wal- 
lace has  a  great  many  admirable  traits,  only,  discreet  as  he  is  in 
some  things,  he  has  no  judgment  in  others."  The  long  lashes 
dropped,  and  the  expression  became  more  thoughtful;  "  I  think 
perhaps  that  trial  has  been  for  his  good,  at  least  I  hope  so,  for 
I  have  every  kind  feeling  towards  him,  although  he  would  not 
believe  me  ;  however,  I  hope  his  misfortunes  are  for  awhile  at 
an  end,  and  that  he  will  be  happier  than  he  has  been,  for  be 
insisted  upon  lavishing  upon  me  attentions  that  became  the 
most  irksome,  and  because  I  confessed  how  annoying  it  was  to 
me,  he  was  positive  I  disliked  him,  and  reproaches  me  with  un- 
kindness  ;  I'm  sorry,  but  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  He  is  naturally  very  cold  and  indifferent,  is  he  not?  "  said 
Anna,  unwilling  to  drop  the  conversation. 

"Oh,  no  indeed,  when  once  he  likes  you  he  is  very  affection- 
ate and  confiding,  and  I'm  sure,  to  any  one  he  cared  for,  he 
would  be  the  most  devoted ;  but  then  he  is  rash  and  impetuous 
as  a  child." 

"  But  Estelle,  you  have  the  clergyman  staying  at  your  house, 
how  are  they  all?  " 

'•Mr.  Everett?  oh  ho  appears  perfectly  well,  but  anxo;:.s 
about  Beatrice,  she's  as  cheerful  as  ever,  only  so  very  thin.  The 
sweet  little  Lyddie  grows  a  very  fine  child;  I'm  so  sorry  w  s're 
so  soon  to  lose  them.     But  I  must  go  to  Lydia." 

"  And  Estelle,  if  you  have  heard  any  distressing  accounts  of 
the  hospital,  please  don't  communicate  them  to  her,  it  has  made 


882  a  spinster's  stoby. 

my  heart  ache  to  know  how  unhappy  the  sad  affair  always 
makes  her." 

••  My  dear,  I've  come  expressly  to  tell  her  that  the  money  is 
ready;  I  wrote  word  to  Oscar,  who  so  exerted  himself  in  its 
behalf,  that  there  need  be  no  further  anxiety  in  that  matter,  and 
before  long,  those  poor  sufferers  will  be  comfortably  settled  in 
their  new  building." 

Anna  returned  to  her  father  at  La  Belle  ;  a  memory  of  Wal- 
lace still  haunted  her,  and  although  she  had   been    assure  1  he 

was  now  released,  there  was  scarcely  anything  in  that  recol- 
lection but   what    vexed  and  troubled   her.     She  admired    RJs- 

telle,  and  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  had  only  a  like 
sympathy  and  fellow-feeling  towards  Wallace,  instead  of  that 
immoderate,  inordinate,  and  excessive  love,  which  she  now 
found  impossible  to  overcome. 

One  evening,  as  she  stood  moodily  playing  with  some  papers 
upon  a  table,  her  eye  fell  upon  an  invitation  which  some  ac- 
quaintance had  sent  her  father  to  attend  a  ball  that  evening  at 
a  short  distance  from  Halle.  A  thought  occurred  to  her,  and 
she  stood  long  in  its  contemplation.  The  club  which  annually 
gave  this  fete,  was  one  to  which  Wallace  had  formerly  belong- ■ 
ed,  and  it  was  most  probable  that  he  would  be  present  on  this 
occasion.  How  much  she  longed  to  see  thai  face  again,  to  look 
once  more  into  the  depths  of  those  expressive  dark  eyes  !  But 
Wallace  had  now  enjoyed  bis  liberty  many  weeks ; — had  he 
once  thought  of  the  little  recluse  at  La  Belle,  who  had  thus 
contributed  to  his  happiness  ?  It  was  most  probable  he  had 
never  cast  a  reflection  upon  the  matter,  except  when  he  first 
received  the  billet,  and  then  only  a  sarcasm  upon  her  folly. 
Why  should  she  so  desire  to  see  him?  Besi  les,  it  was  yet  Lent 
—  could  she  attend  such  a  [dace  at  this  solemn  season?  The 
bell  of  the  little  chapel  was  now  ringing,  and  the  sound  fell 
forcibly  upon  her  conscience,  and  while  she  stood  contem- 
plating whether  to  attend  the  church  or  the  ball,  several  of  the 
domestics  passed  the  window,  and  disappeared  down  the  path 
that  led  to  the  chapel.  One  moment  more,  and  she  was  decid- 
ed, and  flew  to  her  dressing-room. 

"  Miss  Anna,  you  want  your  bonnet,  don't  you,  the  bell  i3 
tolling  ?  "  said  her  maid,  as  she  entered  the  room. 

"  Thank  you  —  I  don't  need  it,  you  may  undress  me." 

"  I  don't  understand,  Miss  !  "  looking  astonished. 

"  Mary,  why  don't  you  obey  ?  please  meke  haste,"  and  as 
she  spoke,  she  opened  a  wardrobe,  and  stood  to  select  from  the 


a  spinster's  story.  383 

many  colors  that  bung  before  her  ;  blue  was  said  to  be  mo 
coming  to  the  flaxen  hair  and  fair  complexion,  so  a  robe  of  this 
hue  was  selected,  the  long  tresses  duly  arranged,  the  white 
wreath  adjusted,  the  diamond  cross,  and  several  other  jewels 
which  had  been  her  mother's  were  taken  from  their  resting-place, 
ami  the  toilet  completed  she  descended  quickly  to  the  carriage 
she  had  ordered  to  convey  her  to  the  house  of  a  frivolous  ac- 
quaintance, whose  society  she  would  at  any  other  time  have 
avoided  ;  as  she  drove  past  the  chapel,  it  seemed  the  horses 
lingered  longer  on  that  part  of  the  hill  than  any  other,  afford- 
ing her  an  opportunity  to  gaze  longer  upon  that  solemn  little 
edifice,  which  generations  of  worshippers  had  consecrated  as  the 
house  of  prayer.  The  candles  were  lighted,  the  congregation 
were  in  their  seats,  and  the  venerable  pastor  entered  the  chan- 
cel ;  a  sweet  spirit  of  peace  seemed  to  pervade  those  sacred 
walls,  and  as  Anna  gazed  through  the  open  door,  she  longed  to 
partake  of  the  comfort  and  consolation  it  afforded,  but  an  in- 
stinctive power  held  before  her  the  image  of  Wallace,  and  as 
she  gazed  upon  that  form,  she  longed  to  be  at  her  destination. 
While  she  was  thus  thinking,  the  door  of  the  chapel  was  closed, 
and  appeared  to  shut  her  out  from  that  peaceful  abode.  Then 
it  occurred  to  her  what  an  example  she  was  setting  her  house- 
hold, and  more  especially  her  father,  who  looked  upon  her  as 
the  pattern  of  a  Christian,  and  who  never  had  too  profound  a 
respect  for  religion;  surely  he  would  now  deem  it  as  more  hyp- 
ocritical than  ever,  while  she,  the  child  whom  he  had  learned  to 
love,  would  have  been  the  means  of  shaking  that  faith  which 
alone  could  ensure  for  him  eternal  happiness. 

Ill  at  ease,  she  arrived  at  the  house  of  her  acquaintance  and 
accompanied  them  to  the  hall  where  the  ball  was  held.  Those 
who  had  known  her  n  year  previous,  were  astonished  at  the  al- 
tered girl  who  stood  before  them  ;  and  no  wonder,  for  great 
was  the  change  the  acquaintance  with  Wallace  had  wrought  in 
her  ;  pale,  thin,  and  haggard  was  the  countenance,  which  had 
at  their  arrival  at  the  chateau,  been  round,  rosy  and  happy. 
The  dancers  were  standing  in  groups  round  the  room,  which 
was  too  crowded  to  enable  Anna  to  search  for  the  object  that 
had  brought  her  thither.  Several  times  she  and  a  companion 
promenaded  round  the  dancers,  and  at  last,  there,  standing  in 
the  midst  of  a  group,  the  gayest  of  the  gay,  was  Wallace.  As 
her  glance  fell  upon  him,  her  hand  dropped  from  the  arm  of  her 
companion,  and  she  stood  as  one  petrified,  gazing  upon  him  ;  her 
lips  moved,  and  half  audibly  she  uttered,  "Oh,  cruel  Wallace  ! 
why  could  you  not  write  me  just  a  few  words  V  "     One  of  the 


384  A    SPINSTER'S    STORY. 

group  that  surrounded  him,  turner!  to  look  behind  her,  and  see- 
ing Anna  gazing  before  her  in  that  half  unconscious  state,  call- 
ed  ill'-  attention  of  the  rest.  Now  they  all  turned  and  looked 
upon  the  wretohe  l  girl.  Some  uttered  exclamations  of  wonder, 
jeered  and  jested  at  the  melancholy  spectacle,  as  they 
inquired  who  Bhe  was;  while  the  resl  pitied  that  pale,  unhappy 
countenance  that  appeared  before  them,  the  spectre  of  wretch- 
edness :  and  Wallace  agreed  with  all  these,  and  joined  in  every 
expression  of  ridicule,  sometimes  exercising  his  wit  and  humor 
upon  the  subject,  gratifying  the  many  who  admired  his  sportive* 
spirit,  while  he  joined  in  the  merry  laugh  that  escaped  his  hear- 
ers, or  united  with  the  others  in  expressing  sympathy  for  the 
miserable  looking  ''  Unknown,"  who  still  stood  before  them. 
Anna  remained  in  thai  attitude  until  she  could  no  longer  dis- 
cern any  object  in  the  room  ;  all  whirled  around  her,  until  find- 
ing she  became  too  giddy  to  retain  her  footing,  she  turned  to 
her  companion  who  stood  gazing  first  upon  her,  then  at  the 
group  before  them,  ami  extending  her  arms  to  him,  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  hold  me  or  I  shall  fall  !  "  and  was  borne  from  the  room. 
Those  who  had  accompanied  her,  were  alarmed  at  her  strange 
appearance,  and  hastily  took  her  home,  where  she  passed  stealth- 
ily to  her  chamber,  and  buried  her  tears  in  her  pillow. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  spring,  and  all  nature  united  in  her 
voice  of  gladness  to  welcome  the  coming  season  of  birds  and 
flowers ;  but  a  mournful  procession  of  carriages  lined  the  street 
where  stood  the  residence  of  Clarence  de  Castello  ;  within  that 
house,  hung  the  solemn  drapery  of  mourning,  for  the  arch- 
monarch,  in  his  round  of  destruction,  had  selected  one  of  the 
loved  ones  from  this  fireside  for  his  prey.  In  the  centre  of  an 
apartment  which  not  long  ago  vibrated  with  the  gladness  of 
song,  was  a  coffin  that  contained  the  beloved  form  of  a  young 
wife  and  mother,  who  had  been  permitted  but  a  short  season  to 
enjoy  the  fellowship  of  kindred  hearts.  Alone  in  that  chamber, 
kneeling  by  a  couch,  was  the  bereaved  husband.  At  last  he 
arose,  and  approaching  the  bier,  he  removed  the  lid,  and  gazed 
upon  her  who  slept  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking.  Calm  and 
peaceful  was  the  countenance,  and  it  conveyed  to  the  heart  of 
the  mourner  the  recollection  that  the  beloved  one  now  partici- 
pated in  that  undisturbed  and  eternal  repose  which  "  remaineth 
for  the  children  of  God."  Pressing  his  lips  tenderly  to  the  fore- 
head, he  yielded  for  the  moment  to  the  excess  of  his  grief:  the 
door  opened,  and  soon  the  room  was  filled  with  the  friends  who 
had  come  to  pay  the   last  tribute  to  her  who  had   long  been  a 


a  spinster's  story.  385 

favorite  of  their  circle.  They  gazed  upon  the  dead,  and  those 
who  had  known  the  history  of  that  departed  one,  saw  before 
them  all  that  remained  of  the  romantic  maiden,  the  prima  don- 
na, the  devoted  wife,  the  affectionate  mother,  the   benevolent 

friend  of  the  poor ;  for  it  was  none  other  than  the  beloved  Be- 
atrice who  had  been  snatched  from  their  midst,  though  not  with- 
out leaving  behind  an  enviable  recollection  of  all  that  is  pure 
and  lovely  in  woman. 

Among  those  who  came  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  departed, 
were  a  lady  and  daughter,  who  appeared  much  moved.  When 
the  remains  had  been  borne  from  the  house,  to  be  placed  beside 
those  of  the  departed  Charles,  they  made  themselves  known  to 
the  sorrowing  husband,  as  the  relations  of  Beatrice,  who  had 
heard  of  her  as  soon  as  she  arrived  in  Europe,  and  had  watched 
ber  movements  although  they  never  recognized  her.  They  had 
admired  her  at  the  opera,  praised  her  works  of  benevolence, 
but  continually  urged  the  father  to  remain  unknown  to  her,  as 
their  own  fortune  was  nearly  exhausted.  They  now  offered  the 
minister  a  roll  of  papers,  but  he  refused  them,  saying,  "  I  don't 
want  it ;  I  have  a  large  fortune  of  my  own  to  give  the  child  of 
my  beloved  Beatrice." 

"  But  we  shall  be  happier,"  entreated  they,  "  do  accept  it 
for  the  little  Lyddie  ;  besides,  it  is  her  just  right.  This  remorse 
will  ever  haunt  us,  do  please  take  it  —  oh,  don't  refuse  us  !  at 
least  as  a  token  that  you  forgive  us,  as  the  dead  would  were  she 
here, —  and  you  will  grant  a  favor  to  her  only  relatives  ?  " 

The  clergyman's  stay  in  Prussia  was  ended,  and  in  the  next 
steamer,  he  departed  with  the  dear  little  Lyddie  and  nurse,  for 
the  shores  of  America. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"  Build  not  thy  hopes  upon  a  vain  to-morrow, 
It  seldom  brings  the  good  it  promised  thee ; 
Enjoy  the  present —  future  joy  or  sorrow- 
God's  care  will  order  as  is  best  for  thee," 

Unfeeling  as  Wallace  had  proved  himself  to  be,  he  still 

reigned  as  ever  in  the  mind   and   memory  of  Anna.     Although 

the  scene  of  the  ball-room  was  ever  before  her,  and  his  satirical 

laugh  ever  ringing  in  her  ears,  she  could   neither  chide  him  for 

17 


386  a  spinster's  story. 

his  uukindness,  nor  love  him  the  loss  for  his  cruelty  ;  lie  was 
Wallace  as  ever,  and  no  matter  what  might  betide,  as  long  as 
life  lasted,  ever  would  be.  She  loved  him  for  the  roguish,  cap- 
tivating spiril  that  ever  animated  him.  She  admired  him  for 
his  talent,  was  always  fascinated  by  his  wit ;  besides,  Wallace 
was  well  informed,  where  she  was  ignorant ;  and  when  he  chose 
could  manifest  judgment  more  sound  and  excellent  than  many 
prominent  men  who  were  twice  his  age  ;  and  although  lie  was 
so  greatly  to  be  blamed  for  his  uukindness  to  her,  still  there 
certainly  were  so  many  redeeming  qualities  beneath  that  reck- 
less, indifferent  exterior,  which  when  considered,  wholly  con- 
cealed the  rest.  Sometimes  in  her  musings,  she  would  wander 
back  to  the  gloomy  domicile  of  Mrs.  Gilbert,  and  dwell  for  a 
moment  upon  the  trials  that  befell  her  there  ;  but  great  as  they 
were  at  the  time,  it  seemed  to  her  that,  surrounded  by  luxury 
as  she  was  now,  the  past  was  far  less  painful  to  bear  than  the 
present ;  and  she  sometimes  thought  of  the  Providence  that  had 
watched  over  her,  and  answered  her  prayers  ;  but  in  her  love 
for  Wallace,  she  had  ceased  to  delight  in  such  thoughts,  con- 
sequently they  were  soon  forgotten. 

Spring  was  gliding  into  summer,  and  for  three  months  Anna 
had  heard  nothing  of  Wallace,  so  that  the  return  of  Alfred  was 
never  more  anxiously  awaited  than  now,  because  it  was  sure  to 
afford  some  tidings  of  that  missing  favorite.  Alfred  came  ;  but 
Carlotta  happened  to  be  staying  at  the  chateau,  so  that  during 
the  afternoon,  no  mention  was  made  of  him,  as  Anna  was  al- 
ways afraid  of  exciting  suspicion  by  her  inquiries,  and  she  pre- 
ferred waiting  impatiently  until  some  one  else  should  introduce 
the  subject.  The  evening  came,  and  Alfred  began  to  recount 
the  particulars  of  his  travels,  which  at  one  time  had  so  deeply 
interested  her  ;  but  now  they  only  seemed  long  and  tedious, 
while  she  continued  to  wonder  whether  Wallace  had  forgotten 
to  grieve  over  Estelle,  and  had  sought  diversion  in  some  other 
direction.  • 

"Oh,  Alfred,"  said  Mr.  Wentworth,  as  they  rose  to  sepa- 
rate, "  have  you  seen  that  young  Grovenor  lately ?  " 

"Wallace?  Oh,  poor  fellow,  he's  in  trouble  again ;  but  I 
think  his  misfortunes  will  soon  end,  for  he  can't  be  long  for 
this  world." 

"  In  prison  again  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  no,  worse  than  that;  he's  in  an  inn  near  Halle,  con- 
fined to  his  bed,  and  surely  cannot  last  long,  for  he  has  taken  a 
severe  cold  which  seems  to  have  settled  upon  his  lungs." 

"  Has  lie  any  friends  with  him?"  inquired  Anna,  as  she 
stooped  to  pick  up  the  light  that  had  fallen  from  her  hand. 


a  spinster's  story.  387 

"  No,  he  is  alone,  he  says  he  knows  they  don't  care  for  him, 
so  wont  send  to  them.  I'm  sorry  I've  to  start  to-morrow  in  an 
opposite  direction,  but  I  hope  my  friend  will  not  call  for  me 
until  I've  had  time  to  go  to  Wallace.  Poor  fellow,  he  seems 
quite  wretched." 

The  morning  came,  but  before  the  breakfast  was  finished, 
came  also  the  friend  of  Alfred,  who  demanded  his  company 
immediately,  as  some  urgent  necessity  pressed  the  ease.  Allied 
seemed  much  disappointed  at  losing  the  opportunity  of  visiting 
Wallace,  bat  was  obliged  to  abide  by  it,  and  determined  to  wait 
a  week  or  ten  days,  when  he  might  be  in  the  direction  of  that 
hotel. 

But  Anna  could  not  wait  for  that  period  to  elapse,  some- 
thing must  be  done  for  Wallace  immediately,  and  by  herself 
too,  for  it  seemed  no  one  else  could  consider  the  comfort  of  the 
invalid,  and  sacrifice  self  for  him  as  she  could  ;  some  might 
minister  to  him  from  charity,  but  how  cold  is  too  often  that  min- 
istry ;  and  how  few  if  any  besides,  would  linger  disinterestedly 
around  that  bed  !  But  neither  would  be  the  motive  that 
•  prompted  her  to  sit  hour  after  hour  beside  that  couch,  it  would 
be  the  essence  of  a  pure  love  that  actuated  her,  and  why  should 
she  remain  in  misery  away  from  him,  when  he  had  none  other 
to  care  for  him  ?  Why  wander  from  one  gallery  of  the  chateau 
to  another,  vainly  longing  to  be  with  him,  when  her  presence 
might  cheer  that  lonely  chamber,  pervading  it  with  the  happy 
assurance  that  there  was  one  in  the  world  to  care  for  him,  one 
who  lived  to  love  him  ?  Why  linger ?  he  might  be  dying. 
''  Wait  no  longer,"  was  the  reigning  impulse,  "  Fly  to  Wallace  !  " 

It  was  a  rainy  morning,  and  from  the  windows,  the  mountain 
passes  looked  solitary  and  dreary.  Equipping  herself  in  a  close 
hood  and  cloak,  and  taking  a  basket  filled  with  dainties  neces- 
sary for  the  nourishment  of  an  invalid,  she  steathily  left  the 
house,  and  started  on  her  lonely  way,  about  a  mile  and  a  half 
beyond  Halle.  Having  ridden  her  horse  to  a  little  ferry  which 
she  had  to  cross,  she  left  him  to  trot  homeward,  while  she,  hav- 
ing paid  the  fee,  entered  the  boat,  and  was  rowed  over,  happy 
to  find  she  was  not  recognized  by  the  ferryman.  On  arriving 
at  Halle,  the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  the  wind  blowing  in  every 
direction,  soon  rendered  an  umbrella  useless,  and  long  before 
she  reached  her  destination,  nearly  every  article  of  clothing  was 
drenched  by  the  storm,  and  weary  and  cold  she  sunk  exhausted 
upon  the  steps  of  the  hotel.  The  repeated  gaze  of  the  passers- 
by,  reminded  her  of  her  conspicuous  situation,  and  lifting  the 
weary  limbs  from  their  resting-place,  she  entered  the  house,  and 


388  a  spinster's  story. 

inquired  for  "Wallace.  The  porter  could  speak  only  in  German, 
and  Anna's  broken  sentences,  and  anxiety  to  render  herself  un- 
derstood,  made  it  impossible  for  the  man  to  comprehend  clearly 
her  meaning  ;  and  be  again  inquired,  "  Is  this  sick  gentleman 
you  speak  of,  an  Englishman  ?  There  is  such  a  person  here." 

"  He  speaks  English  — yes,  doubtless  he  is  the  one  I  seek  ; 
please  tike  me  to  his  room, —  I  think  you  said  Grovenor  was  his 
name  ?  " 

"  Xi,  I  don't  know  his  name,  he  is  a  stranger,  and  has  not 
long  been  here." 

"  Is  he  alone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  believe  he  is  not  married,  I  never  see  any  one  with 
him  but  the  physician." 

"  Thank  you  —  please  show  me  his  room  —  I  must  see  him." 

The  man  looked  at  her  scrutinizingly  for  a  moment,  then 
turning  away,  said,  "  Very  well,  this  way  then,"  and  she  follow- 
ed him  up  several  flights  of  creaking  stairs  to  a  landing,  where 
a  row  of  narrow  doors  was  before  them.  Her  guide  knocked 
at  the  second,  but  no  answer  ;  having  repeated  the  rap  mauy 
times,  at  last  it  opened,  and  a  portly,  middle-aged  gentleman 
with  his  head  bandaged,  and  his  arm  in  a  sling,  made  his  ap- 
pearanee. 

"  If  you  please  sir,"  began  the  porter,  "  this  woman — this 
girl  wants  a  gentleman  who  is  not  married,  one  who  is  alone, 
and  speaks  English,  so  I  brought  her  to  you." 

Thinking  the  gentleman  was  about  to  give  some  information 
of  Wallace,  Anna  waited  and  gazed  earnestly  upon  him.  Her 
bood  had  been  partly  blown  off,  and  the  dishevelled  hair  matted 
by  the  rain,  fell  disorderly  over  the  face  and  shoulders;  nervous 
and  excited,  the  large  blue  eyes  wore  a  wild  expression.  With- 
out speaking  he  looked  for  some  time  wonderingly  upon  her, 
then  turning  to  the  porter  exclaimed  with  a  scowl,  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  sending  this  wretch  here  ?  I've  no  such  set  after 
me,  never  had,  so  you  can  make  no  conquest  of  me,  poor,  mis- 
erable creature  !  "  glancing  at  Anna,  who  was  endeavoring  to 
grope  her  way  down  the  dark  staircase,  "  Must  every  city  of  the 
Continent  be  infested  with  such  as  you  ?  If  I  had  my  will  you 
should  all  be  exposed,  and  reap  the  reward  of  your  dissolute 
life.  Begone  !  "  and  with  a  force  that  shook  the  house,  he  shut 
his  door. 

"  I  must  be  in  the  wrong  house,"  said  Anna,  in  a  terrified 
tone,  as  she  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  I  think  it's  very  likely,"  was  the  rejoinder  of  the  porter, 
who,  entering  a  pantry,  closed  the  door,  and  left  her  to  herself. 


a  spinster's  story.  389 

Finding  herself  again  in  the  street,  she  began  to  consider  in 
what  direction  she  should  proceed.  The  storm  was  not  yet  abat- 
ed, and  although  not  late  in  the  afternoon,  it  was  quite  dark. 
Timorously  Anna  made  her  way  through  the  deserted  streets  to 
a  large  building  which  bore  the  appearance  of  a  sort  of  inn. 
Seeing  a  servant  girl  moving  in  the  passage,  she  called  to  her, 
and  having  made  the  necessary  inquiries,  was  persuaded  Wal- 
lace must  be  there  Taking  her  by  the  hand,  the  maid  led  her 
into  adark  lobby,  and  softly  opening  a  door,  Anna  soon  found  her- 
self in  a  small  chamber,  where  the  woman  had  left  her.  At 
first  she  could  discern  nothing,  but  after  standing  awhile  in  the 
room,  she  began  to  see  better.  The  apartment  was  but  scanti- 
ly  furnished,  and  wore  no  air  of  comfort  for  an  invalid;  on  a 
bed  was  stretched  the  form  of  Wallace.  But  how  altered  !  and 
Anna  gazed  in  amazement  upon  that  spectacle.  The  eyes  were 
closed,  and  he  seemed  in  a  heavy  sleep ;  yet  the  unshorn  beard 
and  long  lashes  contrasted  greatly  with  the  pale,  sunken  cheeks, 
and  the  expression  of  the  whole  countenance  was  haggard  and 
ghastly.  Wholly  unprepared  for  the  change,  she  was  overcome 
as  she  gazed  upon  the  sight,  and  as  she  sunk  into  a  seat,  began 
to  realize  the  boldness  of  her  undertaking  ;  there  in  the  cham- 
ber of  a  man,  with  whom  she  was  really  but  little  acquainted, 
and  without  any  just  excuse  for  the  intrusion.  The  close  at- 
mosphere of  the  room  caused  her  to  cough.  Wallace  turned, 
the  dark  eyes  opened,  and  fell  upon  her  figure  ;  but  her  face,  as 
it  rested  upon  her  hand,  was  concealed  by  the  cloak,  so  that  the 
features  could  not  be  discerned. 

As  Wallace's  gaze  rested  upon  her  form,  a  bright  flush  over- 
spread the  pale  face,  and  endeavoring  to  raise  himself,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Oh,  Estelle  !  beautiful  Estelle  !  Come  near  me 
—  let  me  look  again  upon  that  lovely  face  before  I  die  !  Oh, 
Estelle,  come  — let  me  clasp  you  but  once,  and  I  die  content !  " 

He  sunk  exhausted  upon  his  pillow,  uttered  a  groan  as  if  in 
pain,  and  instantly  the  color  left  the  countenance  ghastly  as  be- 
fore. Anna  approached  the  bed,  and  bent  over  the  emaciated 
form.  She  placed  her  trembling  hand  upon  his  brow  ;  —  the  col- 
orless lips  parted,  and  he  breathed  the  name  "Estelle,"  while  a 
faint  smile  played  over  the  features.  Still,  as  though  insensible 
to  all  beside  comforting  him,  Anna  began  to  bathe  the  feverish 
brow.  The  eyelids  were  uplifted,  he  looked  upon  her,  and  with 
difficulty  raised  a  wasted  hand  to  his  forehead,  as  if  to  recall 
some  image  of  the  past ;  then  suddenly  turning  from  her,  ex- 
claimed, "Leave  me  —  I  don't  want  anything  of  you,  go  — 
you  disturb  me!" 


300  a  spinster's  story. 

"  Oh,  Wallace  !  Wallace  !  "  and  falling  upon  her  knees 
esido  the  bed,  her  head  sunk  upon  his  breast,  while  her  teara 
fell  fast  upon  the  coverlid.  "  Oh,  do  let  me  do  something  for 
you.  If  you  did  but  know  how  much  I  would  sacrifice  for  you, 
you  would  not  refuse  me."  Taking  a  restorative  from  her  bas- 
ket, she  administered  it  to  the  sufferer.  He  put  his  hand  upon 
her  arm  as  she  raised  the  pillows  to  place  his  head  more  com- 
fortably, and  looking  kindly  upon  her,  uttered  an  expression 
of  thanks,  and  said,  "  Anna,  my  kind,  my  best  friend,  why 
have  you  centred  your  affections  upon  one  so  unworthy  ?  Dear 
girl,  the  only  one  I  have  in  the  world  to  care  for  me, — I  would 
that  I  had  more  to  offer  you  than  the  gratitude  of  the  mere  rem- 
nant of  my  existence." 

Such  from  Wallace  was  all  she  desired,  and  she  was  satisfied. 
But  the  thought  that  his  life  was  ending  just  when  it  was  the 
most  precious  to  her,  overwhelmed  her,  and  pressing  his  head 
to  her  bosom,  as  though,  she  would  have  withheld  him  from  the 
jaws  of  death,  she  exclaimed  in  her  agony,  "  Oh,  don't  leave 
me  in  the  world  without  you, —  if  you  must  die,  take  me  with 
you  !  Oh,  Wallace,  when  you  are  gone  this  world  will  be  a 
blank  to  me  !  " 

A  noise  behind  her  made  her  turn  round,  and  she  start- 
ed at  seeing  a  tall  figure  enwrapped  in  a  cloak,  standing  before 
her.  She  at  first  thought  of  her  father,  but  although  it  was 
very  dark,  a  second  glance  told  the  man  was  a  stranger  to  her ; 
retreating  into  a  recess,  she  sat  down,  and  became  more  calm, 
while  the  man  approached  the  bed,  took  the  hand  of  Wallace, 
and  by  his  proceedings,  proved  to  be  a  physician.  After  remain- 
ing but  a  short  time  he  took  his  leave  ;  Anna  arose,  and  follow- 
ing him  into  the  passage,  inquired  whether  the  case  was  danger- 
ous. "  I  think  not,  if  he  has  proper  care  and  nourishment," 
was  the  reply. 

But  it  was  late,  and  unless  Anna  desired  to  travel  alone  by 
midnight,  she  must  hasten  away.  During  the  stay  of  the  med- 
ical man,  Wallace  had  fallen  into  slumber  ;  bending  over  to 
gaze  again  upon  that  face  which  had  so  long  been  one  fixed  im- 
age in  her  memory,  she  dropped  a  silent  tear  as  she  recollected 
it  might  be  her  last  gaze  upon  life,  and  wrapping  the  wet  cloak 
around  her  shivering  limbs,  stole  out  of  the  chamber. 

Through  the  storm  and  the  darkness  of  night,  the  weary  An- 
na pursued  her  lonely  way  homeward,  and  at  last  reached  the 
ferry.  As  the  lightning  flashed,  it  brought  to  view  the  swollen 
waters,  over  which  the  boatmen  with  difficulty  plied  their  oars. 
As  they  returned  to  the  shore  where  she  stood  shuddering  with 
cold  and  fear,  they  refused  to  run  the  risk  again  for  any  money. 


a  spinster's  story.  391 

There,  unsheltered  from  the  storm,  stood  the  terrified  girl 
entreating  the  men  to  take  her  over  ;  but  they,  believing  her  to 
be  a  servant,  still  refused.  At  last,  one  of  them  exclaimed, 
"  Well,  she  doesn't  speak  like  one  of  the  roughest,  and  will 
take  her  death  standing  here.  I'll  try  it.  If  we're  lost,  it  will 
only  be  two  lives  forfeited  instead  of  one.  Get  in,  Madam, 
whoever  you  are." 

Some  one  hailed  them,  and  while  they  waited  for  the  passen- 
ger to  reach  them,  they  led  Anna  under  the  shelter  of  a  little 
boat  house.  A  man  with  a  lantern  took  a  seat  beside  her,  the 
round,  bugle  light  fell  full  upon  her,  and  she  drew  her  hood 
closer  over  her  face  while  they  began  to  question  her  as  one  of 
the  domestics  of  the  household.  Alfred's  marriage,  Lydia's 
goodness  and  personal  charms,  Carlotta's  youth  and  beauty, 
etc.,  were  duly  discussed  ;  at  last  they  spoke  of  her  own  be- 
nevolence, and  as  they  sympathized  with  the  poor  and  needy, 
Anna  thought  how  unworthy  she  was  of  their  praise,  and  felt, 
as  she  remembered  the  hospital,  how  much  more  acceptable 
than  hers,  must  be  the  hearts  of  these  rough-looking  men 
uuto  Him,  to  whom  all  hearts  are  open. 

The  dark,  lonely  road  was  traversed,  the  gloomy  avenue  of 
trees  passed  through,  and  at  last  she  reached  the  chateau,  and 
fell  fainting  into  the  arms  of  her  father. 

In  one  of  the  wings  of  the  chateau  there  was  a  room  not  far 
from  Anna's  suit  of  apartments,  most  cozy  and  inviting;  the 
balmy  air  of  June  wafted  through  the  open  casement,  laden 
with  the  perfume  of  the  garden  below,  bearing  the  matin  song 
of  the  many  warblers  that  blended  their  sweet  notes  as  they 
flitted  from  bough  to  bough,  or  soared  far  aloft  into  regions  of 
the  azure  deep.  Still,  soft  as  was  the  zephyr,  the  curtains  were 
carefully  drawn  round  a  couch  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
room ;  near  it  was  a  little  table,  which,  from  the  tastefully  ar- 
ranged cut  flowers  that  it  contained,  bore  the  evidences  of  some 
gentle  hand. 

Softly  the  door  was  opened,  and  a  slender  female  figure  ap- 
proached the  couch  ;  the  youthful  face  was  pale,  and  somewhat 
anxious,  and  yet.  it  wore  a  happy  expression.  Stooping  down 
and  parting  the  curtains,  she  said,  in  a  low,  silvery  tone,  "  Wal- 
lace, 3'ou  are  better  to  day." 

"  And  because  I  feel  better,  some  one  else  does  also  ;  "  and 
a  hand  was  placed  upon  her  shoulder.  "  Oh,  Anna,  why  do 
you  lavish  so  much  upon  one  whom  nobody  else  in  the  world 
would   care   for?      When  I   think  how  you  have  nursed   me 


392  a  spinster's  story 

through  tliis  tedious  illness,  and  wearied  yourself  in  your  devo- 
tion to  me,  dill  I  not  fuel  proud  of  Bueh  attention,  indeed,  I 
should  regret  that  I  have  nor  chided  you  Long  ago.  But  let  me 
tell  you,  I  have  been  lying  here  just  because  you  wished  it ; 
let  us  go  into  th  i  garden,"  rising,  "  you've  no  idea  how  strong 
I  have  become."  Throwing  a  cloak  round  him,  Anna  descend- 
ed with  him  into  the  garden.  The  grounds  had  never  looked 
more  beautiful  than  now ;  besides,  there  was  reason  why  they 
should  be  more  attractive  than  ever,  for  it  was  a  day  of  special 
rejoicing  at  La  BjIIc,  and  probably  there  were  none  within  its 
limits,  but  participated  in  the  festivities  with  delight. 

Entering  an  avenue  of  trees  over  which  the  boilghs  met,  they 
seated  themselves  in  the  leafy  shade,  and  Wallace  exclaimed, 
"  What  a  pretty  peal  of  bells  from  the  chapel  !  Have  all  the 
the  guests  arrived  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  ami  it's  now  time  I  went  to  dress,  for  the  wed- 
ding will  be  at  twelve  precisely.     Alfred  likes  to  be  punctual." 

"  But  dearest,  as  soon  as  it  is  over,  come  to  the  citron  grove, 
I've  something  to  say  to  you. 

The  little  chapel  on  the  estate  was  well  filled  with  guests 
when  the  bridal  train  entered.  First  came  the  bridemaids,  who 
were  young  ladies  from  Berlin,  together  with  Anna  and  Wal- 
lace, then  the  pretty  Carlotta  and  Mr.  Wentworth,  who  was  to 
give  her  away,  and  Alfred  with  Estelle.  At  that  altar,  Car- 
lotta's  father  and  mother  had  knelt  to  seal  their  vows,  and 
there  Alfred's  mother  had  confidingly  united  herself  with  one 
who  now  stood  there  reflecting  upon  much  that  had  passed  since 
that  hour.  The  ceremony  over,  they  returned  to  the  chateau, 
where  a  collation  upon  the  lawn  awaited  them  ;  then  Alfred 
bore  his  lovely  Lottie  away  to  pass  a  short  time  under  an  Italian 
sky,  and  as  the  guests  began  to  disperse,  Anna  repaired  to  the 
seclusion  of  the  citron  grove.  Wallace  drew  her  to  a  seques- 
tered spot,  where  the  gay  songsters,  and  the  music  of  the  cas- 
cade were  the  only  sounds  that  disturbed  the  deep  tranquillity. 
There  they  remained  until  the  merry  warblers  had  gone  to  rest, 
and  as  they  arose  to  return  to  the  chateau,  for  the  second  time 
in  her  life,  Anna  was  en°;a<?ed. 

Again  it  was  autumn.  To  a  casual  observer  nothing  without 
the  chateau  presented  aught  that  was  new  or  uncommon  for  that 
season.  The  murmuring  breeze  among  the  falling  leaves  was  no 
more  melancholy  than  on  former  occasions,  and  the  interior  told 
that  Carlotta  had  come  to  take  her  place,  and  that  the  widow 
and   Lydia  were  also  among  the  number ;  still,  that  house  was 


a  spinster's  stout.  393 

one  of  sadness.     Gloom  and   sorrow  were  seated  there,  and  not 
one  but  felt  its  influence. 

In  her  room  knelt  the  fair  Lydia,  her  whole  frame  tremhlinw 
violently  with  the  agitation  of  some  uncoutrollable  a  urrow.  Ar 
last  sh  ;  arose  from  her  knees,  the  face  was  deadly  pale',  and 
bore  evidences  of  many  tears.  Nerving  herself  as  for  a  painful 
duty,  she  bathed  the  swollen  eyes,  and  left  the  room. 

Proceeding  through  one  of  the  galleries,  she  reached  the 
apartment  of  the  west  wing,  and  passed  into  Anna's  dressing- 
room,  expecting  to  find  her  cousin,  but  Anna  was  not  there. 
Entering  the  bed-chamber,  she  found  her  stretched  upon  the 
bed,  but  the  face  was  buried  in  the  coverlid,  and  fearing  to 
disturb  her,  lest  she  might  be  sleeping,  she  stood  and  waited. 
Presently  Anna  arose,  and  proceeded  to  arrange  the  dishevelled 
tresses  that  hung  disorderly  about  her ;  this  was  scarcely  com- 
pleted when  she  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and  gave  herself 
over  to  a  paroxysm  of  weeping.  Lydia,  who  was  yet  unperceiv- 
ed,  watched  in  the  greatest  distress,  the  anguish  of  her  cousin, 
and  Buffering  the  first  fit  of  grief  to  subside,  she  approached  her 
and  pressing  her  to  her  bosom,  parted  the  flaxen  locks  from  the 
death-like  countenance,  wiped  away  the  tears,  and  taking  her 
by  the  hand,  led  her  from  the  room,  with  a  firmness  of  deter- 
mination that  could  not  be  resisted. 

Though  Wallace  had  rapidly  gained  strength  and  spirits,  and 
was,  for  a  time,  the  life  of  the  household,  the  seeds  of  a  disease 
that  had  been  sown  during  a  life  of  dissipation  again  manifested 
themselves,  and  Wallace  was  once  more  laid  low  with  inflamma- 
tion of  the  lungs.  Inclefatigably  and  unceasingly  Anna  had 
watched  by  that  couch  of  pain,  refusing  to  take  rest  until  there 
were  signs  of  a  change  for  the  better.  But  she  had  now  been 
confined  to  her  room  for  many  days,  and  during  that  time  oc- 
casional spells  of  delirium  had  rendered  her  unconscious  of 
everything  that  passed  around  her.  Finding  nothing  could 
rouse  her  from  this  lethargy,  it  was  advised  that  she  should  be 
taken  into  Wallace's  room,  and  although  the  widow  was  stay- 
ing at  the  villa,  the  task  of  leading  her  thither  was  left  to  Ly- 
dia, for  Anna  loved  her  cousin  most  affectionately,  and  when 
in  her  distracted  or  melancholy  moments,  would  yield  more 
submissively  to  her  than  any  other. 

As  they  approached  the  door  of  the  room,  Lydia  placed  her 
arm  firmly  round  the  waist  of  Anna,  and  drawing  her  into  the 
apartment,  closed  the  door.  The  chamber  was  darkly  shaded, 
still  a  gleam  of  light  fell  upon  an  object  before  them.  For  a 
moment  Anna  gazed  inquiringly  upon  that  pall,  then  uttering  a 


394  a  spinster's  story. 

shriek  that  pierced  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard  it,  tore  herself 
from  Ly  lia,  and  clasping  the  coffin  in  her  agony,  called  aloud 
upon  the  name  of  the  dead,  ft  was  heart-rending  to  witness 
her  suffering,  and  the  self-p  >ss  >ss  •  1  Lydia  was  nearly  overcome, 
for  Anna  had  Bupp  ised  Wallace  still  living,  so  that  the  shock 
must  have  been  almost  death  to  her.  A.I  last,  she  raised  the 
agonized  face  to  her  cousin,  and  throwitfg  her  arms  about  her 
cried,  "  Wallace  is  dead!  Oh,  Lyddie,  take  pity  on  me!  He  is 
»one  never  to  return  to  me  —  I  cannot  live  without  him  —  oh, 
Wallace,  come  hack  to  me  !  Lyddie,  Lyddie,  pity  —  weep  for 
the  wretched  Anna  —  he  is  gone  from  me  forever."  Her  sobs 
ceased,  for  she  hail  fainted.  Lydia  called  for  Mr.  Wcntworth, 
who  carried  her  away,  and  they  softly  closed  the  door  upon 
that  chamber  of  death. 

That  night  Lydia  took  her  station  beside  the  bed  of  the  sor- 
rowing girl,  and  watched  over  her  broken  slumbers. 

About  midnight  Anna  awoke,  and  as  her  eyes  rested  upon 
her  cousin,  she  locked  her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  cried, 
"  Oh,  cousin,  I  know  it  was  not  a  dream,  Wallace  is  gone  for 
ever ! " 

"  Dearest,  it  was  the  will  of  God  !  " 

"  But  Lyddie,  he  was  all  the  world  to  me  !  I  know  I  have 
done  wrong  in  making  such  an  idol  of  him,  but  Lyddie,  I 
could' nt  help  it,  and  he  had  no  one  else  to  love  him.  Oh, 
cousin,  I  wish  I  could  die  !  " 

"  But  dearest,  do  not  weep  so  violently,  do,  for  our  sakes  try 
to  be  more  calm  !  " 

"  I  will,  Lyddie,  but  talk  to  me  of  Wallace  —  tell  me  that 
you  too  saw  much  to  like  in  him  —  do  say  that  you  thought 
him  intellectual,  generous,  noble  !  Do,  Lyddie,  say  something 
good  of  my  Wallace  !  " 

"  I  will,  love ;  but  I  can  say  what  is  far  better  than  those 
qualities.  He  sent  for  us  all,  and  we  gathered  round  his  bed 
as  he  lay  dying ;  no  christian's  last  moments  were  ever  more 
happy  and  peaceful  than  those  of  Wallace.  He  was  so  peni- 
tent for  the  years  that  were  lost,  so  conscious  of  his  need  of  a 
Saviour.  He  exhorted  us  to  look  well  to  our  lives,  that  we 
trifled  not  with  the  precious  things  that  belong  to  the  peace  of 
the  eternal  soul.  He  invoked  a  blessing  upon  you,  and  all 
who  had  befriended  him,  and  commending  his  soul  into  the 
hands  of  his  Maker,  he  died  without  a  struggle.  And  now 
dearest,  you  who  have  loved  him  so  well,  could  not  wish  him 
back  again  ;  no,  Anna,  you  could  not,  and  let  us  return  thanks 
that  he  died  at  peace  with  (rod  !  " 


a  spinster's'  stoby.  395 

"Wait  Lyddie,  t  would  rather  kneel  !  " 

Leaving  her  bed,  she  knelt  beside  her  cousin,  and  together 
they  offered  up  tbeir  thanksgiving  for  the  soul  that  was  gone. 
The  words  were  few,  and  uttered  amid  many  tears,  but  such  are 
heard  and  accepted  by  Him  to  whom  all  hearts  are  open. 

A  feeling  of  peace  stole  over  the  cousins,  and  locked  in  each  oth- 
er's arms,  they  lay  themselves  down,  and  fell  into  a  gentle  sleep. 

But  I  have  already  made  my  narrative  far  too  lengthy,  T  for- 
get that  these  of  whom  I  delight  to  write,  cannot  be  such  favor- 
ites with  those  who  are  not  personally  acquainted  with  them.  I 
beg  pardon  for  the  oversight,  ami  would  say  to  any  who  might 
honor  these  pages  with  a  perusal,  that  the  caprice  of  a  foolish 
oil  lady  is  the  only  excuse  lean  plead.  However,  I  will  waste 
no  time  on  preliminaries,  but  hasten  to  a  close. 

After  remaining  eight  years  in  America,  during  which  time  I 
was  subject  to  all  the  chances  and  changes  of  my  precarious  vo- 
cation, I  began  to  feel  a  yearning  for  my  native  mountains. 
Changes  suddenly  took  place  among  my  relations,  and  I  receiv- 
ed the  joyful  tidings  that  I  could  return  to  the  home  of  my 
childhood.  I  had  been  spending  some  time  in  the  western  part 
of  Pennsylvania,  but  had '  never  forgotten  an  incident  that  oc- 
curred the  day  I  left  Philadelphia.  Ln  passing  through  one  of 
the  streets,  I  beheld  several  carriages,  and  thinking  it  was  a 
funeral,  I  inquired  who  was  dead ;  the  person  addressed  inform- 
ed me  that  it  was  a  wedding,  and  hearing  that  the  bride  was 
none  other  than  the  pretty  Kate,  I  resolved  to  delay  myself  a 
little  longer,  and  enter  the  church.  It  was  crowded  to  excess, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  enter  from  the  street ;  being  well  known 
to  the  sexton,  I  made  my  way  round  to  the  vestry  room,  and 
thus  passed  into  the  church.  Presently  the  tall  sister  Jose- 
phine, entered  with  a  brother-in-law, —  there  was  no  other 
bridemaid  ;  and  next,  the  bride  herself  made  her  appearance. 
She  was  simply  arrayed  in  white,  and  looked  exceedingly  pretty. 
Her  father  was  now  dead,  but  an  uncle  accompanied  her  to  take 
his  place.  They  were  already  at  the  altar,  and  wonderingly,  I 
looked  round  for  the  bridegroom.  I  heard  the  sound  of  wheels 
upon  the  carpeted  aisle,  it  came  nearer  —  I  looked  again  —  a 
chair  was  being  wheeled  to  the  altar,  and  behold  !  "  "  But 
no,"  said  I  to  myself;  "my  eyes  must  be  false  to  me!"  I 
looked  again,  and  lo  !  it  was  Barrow  !  A  sickening  sensation 
came  over  me,  and  I  endeavored  to  leave  the  place,  but  the 
crowd  was  too  dense,  and  I  was  forced  to  remain ;  and  there 
were  others  beside  myself  who  dropped  a  tear  as  they  witnessed 


396  A    SPIXSTKli's    STORY. 

those   nuptials.     With  disgust  and  pity  T  turned  my  face  from 
the  scene,  and  was  glad  when  able  to  make  my  escape. 

Now  that  T  was  about  to  take  my  leave  of  America,  I  returned 
to  Philadelphia  to  bid  farewell  to  those  who  by  their  kind  hospi- 
tality to  a  stranger  and  foreigner,  had  endeared  themselves  to 
me.  I  found  Mr.  Everett  looking  very  well,  and  very  happy 
in  the  possession  of  his  darling  little  Lydia,  who  had  grown  a 
beautiful  child.  Poor  old  Mrs.  Gilbert,  I  was  told,  had  one 
morning  been  found  dead  in  her  bed,  and  that  Susan  was  living 
with  Miss  Pyke,  who  had  grown  quite  blind  ;  how  they  agreed 
1  did  not  stop  to  inquire.  I  had  a  desire  to  call  upon  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Barrow,  and  arriving  at  the  house,  rang  the  bell.  A  do- 
mestic answered  the  door,  and  hearing  I  wished  to  see  Mr.  Bar- 
row also,  she  led  the  way  up  stairs.  My  name  was  announced, 
and  I  entered  the  room.  The  first  object  I  beheld  was  the  once 
pretty  Kate,  half  reclining  upon  an  ottoman.  Certainly  the 
features  were  as  small  and  symmetrical  as  ever,  but  the  com- 
plexion was  sallow,  the  whole  countenance  wore  an  unhealthy 
appearance,  and  the  animation  that  had  been  its  chief  ornament 
was  no  longer  to  be  found  there.  By  her  side  upon  a  couch, 
was  that  deplorable  piece  of  decrepit  humanity,  which  she  was 
forced  to  own  as  a  husband.  The  sight  was  painful  to  me,  and 
as  I  turned  to  depart,  my  eye  fell  upon  an  object  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  "What  a  strange  fancy,"  thought  I,  "  for  the  old 
man  to  amuse  himself  with  a  doll !  "  It  moved,  and  in  amaze- 
ment I  discovered  it  to  be  a  child  ! 

*'  Our  children  are  very  small,  Miss  Morgan,"  said  the  same 
little  whining  voice  of  long  ago. 

I  looked  again,  and  behold,  it  was  as  he  had  said. — a  child  of 
theirs,  but  so   diminutive,  I  dreaded  to  touch  lest  I  should  hurt 
it.     The   limbs  seemed  contracted  and  withered,  and  though  the 
shrivelled  little  face  bore  some  faint  resemblance  to   its  mother, 
there   was   in  the   expression  a  likeness  of  the  father  too  pitiful 
to  behold.     I  extended  my  hand   to  Kate  to  bid  good-by,  and 
my  dress  turned  over  something  upon  the  floor.     I  looked  to 
repair  the  mischief,  and  there  too  was  just  such  a  dwarf  child  as 
1  had  seen  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  only  it  was  apparently  about 
a  year  younger.      "  Poor  Kate  !  "  thought  I,  and  with  a  feeling 
of  disgust  left  the  house.      Since  my  pupils  left  for  Prussia,  we 
had  never  ceased  to  correspond,  and  upon    hearing  I  was  about 
to  leave   for   Europe,  they   wrote  so  urgently  for  me  to  start  for 
Berlin,  to  spend  a  season  with  them,  that  I  could  not  deny  my- 
self such  a  pleasure  ;  so,  although  my  days  for  adventure  and 
romance  were  over,  in  due  time  I  found  myself  at  the  station  in 


a  spixster's  story.  397 

Berlin,  whore  Lydia,  with  her  carriage,  was  waiting;  to  welcome 
me.  For,  although  1  beheld  in  the  handsome,  full-grown  wo- 
man before  me,  the  Countess  de  Castello  (for  her  husband's 
father  had  died;  )  I  saw  also  the  same  unsophisticated,  frank, 
noble-minded  Lydia,  as  when  eight  years  before,  her  father  led 
the  blushing  girl  into  my  presence.  We  drove  to  her  house,  a 
noble  mansion,  that  spoke  highly  in  favor  of  the  good  manage- 
ment of  its  young  mistress.  At  dinner  I  saw  her  husband,  and 
was  much  pleased  with  his  convivial,  courteous  manner.  Ly- 
dia took  me  to  the  nursery,  and  as  I  beheld  the  four  dear  chil- 
dren that  clustered  round  their  mamma,  even  in  that  happy  mo- 
ment I  could  not  but  heave  a  sigh  of  regret,  that  such  a  de- 
light might  never  cheer  the  melancholy  of  an  old  maid,  and  I 
wondered  if  a  bachelor's  life  ever  experienced  such  repinings. 

However,  Lydia  insisted  upon  my  retiring  early  to  rest  after 
the  fatigues  of  my  journey,  and  soon  the  sighing  spirit  of  the 
spinster  was  lost  in  slumber.  The  following  day  I  was  taken 
to  La  Belle.  I  cannot  describe  the  pleasure  it  afforded  me  as 
I  beheld  in  the  once  thin,  gloomy  little  Anna  of  Claremont 
Place,  a  bright,  happy  looking  girl,  who  delighted  in  devoting 
herself  to  the  comforts  of  others,  and  who  relieved  the  youthful 
Carlotta  in  the  management  of  the  greater  part  of  the  household. 
For  Anna  had  to  all  appearance  ceased  to  mourn  for  Wallace, 
and  when  we  were  alone,  she  showed  me  his  likeness,  and  took 
me  to  the  little  cemetery,  where  a  stone  marks  his  resting-place. 
She  assured  me  she  could  now  look  back  upon  the  past,  and 
see  it  was  for  the  best ;  and  although  she  should  ever  cherish 
his  memory,  she  had  ceased  to  grieve  for  him. 

While  I  remained,  Alfred  returned,  and  I  found  his  the 
same  joyous,  jocular  spirit  as  ever,  and  regretted  when  the  time 
arrived  for  me  to  leave  that  happy  household  behind  me.  But 
since  that  I  have  often  seen  my  Prussian  friends,  for  in  the 
summer  season  I  delight  in  taking  the  journey,  that  I  may  meet 
then  all  once  again. 

And  while  I  am  secluded  among  the  mountains  of  Wales, 
Anna  accompanies  her  brother  upon  his  missions  of  mercy,  for 
which  the  trials  and  hardships  of  her  early  life  renders  her  bet- 
ter qualified  than  his  lovely  Lottie.  Yet  where  is  Lydia  ?  Is 
not  her  name  as  well  known  among  the  wretched  as  Anna's '( 
But  first  let  me  ask,  are  there  no  aching  hearts  among  the  rich 
and  the  affluent, —  no  fears  of  death  in  the  dying  chambers  of  the 
wealthy  ?     Can  good  works  be  done  only  among  the  poor? 

It  is  evening.  The  last  golden  beam  is  tinting  the  landscape, 
all  nature  wears  the  tranquillity  of  peace. 


398  a  spinster's  story. 

In  a  mansion  situated  among  the  dwellings  of  the  nobility  of 
Berlin,  there  is  a  chamber  where  the  domestics  move  noiselessly 
around  a  bed,  on  which  lies  a  female  apparently  in  the  last  hour 
of  her  existence.  The  door  opens,  and  an  elderly  woman  ap- 
proaches the  bed,  saying,  "  My  dear,  here  is  the  countess  who 
called  a  few  days  ago." 

A  female  figure  passes  softly  to  the  bed-side,  and  bending 
over  the  dying  woman,  utters  low,  sweet  tones  of  kindness  and 
sympathy.  A  hand  wasted  by  sickness  and  suffering  is  placed 
upon  her  arm,  while  a  hollow  voice  exclaims,  "  Oh,  they  have 
told  me  you  could  comfort  me,  but  then  you  must  tell  me  that 
all  beyond  the  grave  is  a  blank  —  that  there  is  no  eternity  for 
the  soul  !  Nothing  beside,  can  lessen  my  suffering.  My  friends 
surround  me  to  talk  of  my  recovery,  and  buoy  me  up  with  the 
hope  of  mingling  again  in  the  pleasures  of  the  world ;  but  I 
know  I  am  dying,  and  what  are  the  baubles  of  earth  now  to 
nie  ?  They  bring  me  luxuries  —  they  tell  me  I  may  again  be 
envied  by  the  multitude,  but  oh,  they  tell  me  nothing  that  can 
comfort  me  !  Ah,  Madame,  now  I  see  who  has  come  to  visit 
me  in  this  trying  hour,  I  behold  the  sweet  Lydia  I  once  knew  — 
surely  you  can  recognize  me  ?  But  no  !  I  forgot  how  altered  I 
am.  No  wonder  you  do  not  know  the  dying  Fritzine.  Ah, 
would  my  life  had  been  as  yours  !  I  shudder  to  recall  the  past 
—  I  would  recount  it  —  but  no,  too  dark —  too  dreadful !  Doubt- 
less you  have  never  heard  of  such  a  life,  I  will  not  acquaint  you 
with  guilt  such  as  mine.  Happy  Lydia  !  I  have  often  heard 
of  you  —  I  know  you've  an  affectionate  husband  and  children 
to  surround  you,  and  I  also  might  have  been  gladdened  by  the 
prattling  of  little  voices,  for  I  have  had  many  children  ;  but  I 
know  not  where  one  is  to  be  found — I  left  them  in  different 
parts  of  the  Continent,  wherever  I  could  conveniently  rid  my- 
self of  their  care.  They  know  nothing  of  their  parentage,  and 
as  they  grow  up  to  be  scattered  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  what 
will  they  think  of  their  mother  ?  Oh,  can  nothing  blot  out 
from  the  memory  the  awful  past  !  " 

Lydia  despatches  a  message  to  her  husband,  nor  deems  the 
comforting  of  an  anguish -stricken  soul  a  small  recompense  for 
spending  a  night  and  a  day  in  the  chamber  of  the  dying. 

Now  it  seems  to  me  that  when  any  one  writes  a  story,  wheth- 
er it  be  fact  or  fiction,  they  generally  contrive  to  end  with  a 
marriage,  i'm  sure  I  don't  know  why  this  should  be  the  con- 
summation, but  perhaps  that  is  because  I  am  an  old  lady,  who 
never  partook  of  the  joys  of  that  holy  estate ;  however,  be  that 


a  spinster's  story.  399 

as  it  may,  as  I  shall  never  enter  again  upon  the  literary  field, 
after  talcing  the  trouble  to  scribble  what  1  bave,  (which  indeed 
is  not  ft  little  fur  a  woman  of  my  years)  I  see  no  reason  why  h 
also  should  not  be  like  other  authors  in  this  respect,  bo  will  add 
a  little  incident  that  occurred  during  one  of  my  visits  to  my 
Prussian  friends,  about  three  months  after  the  death  of  the  poor 
Fritzine. 

It  was  a  delightful  morning  in  the  middle  of  spring,  when  as 
I  alighted  at  the  door  of  the  Countess  de  Castello,  a  familiar 
voice  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Miss  Morgan,  I'm  so  glad  you're  come 
in  time,  for  we  shall  start  in  an  hour."  ''Yes,  dear  Madam," 
said  Alfred,  as  he  met  me  in  the  hall,  "  and  Lydia  is  no  better 
pleased  to  see  you  than  I  am  ;  for,  although  you  are  a  maiden 
lady,  you  do  not  belong  to  that  class  who  look  upon  matrimony 
as  the  most  preposterous  of  follies,  and  therefore  we  are  not 
anxious  to  dispense  with  your  company." 

To  my  surprise  I  found  every  one  of  the  family  of  La  Belle 
at  Lydia's.  As  soon  as  I  had  rested,  we  set  out  together,  and 
joined  the  vast  assembly  that  awaited  to  witness  the  marriage 
of  the  Baron  de  Korsa. 

As  I  was  not  present  at  the  weddings  of  the  rest  of  my  Prus- 
sian friends,  I  have  only  been  able  to  echo  the  opinion  of  others 
in  regard  to  them,  but  of  this  I  can  speak  for  myself,  and  I 
believe  no  bride  could  appear  more  lovely  than  did  this  charm- 
ing Estelle.  But  I  looked  also  with  an  intense  interest  upon 
the  tall,  handsome  figure  at  her  side,  and  as  I  gazed  into  that 
benevolent  face,  and  recalled  that  guardianship  over  the  de- 
parted Beatrice,  I  thought  of  the  words,  "  Let  your  light  so 
shine  before  men,  that  they  may  see  your  good  works,  and  glo- 
rify your  Father  which  is  in  Heaven." 

[Note.  The  survivors  of  Miss  Morgan  deem  it  in  place  to 
state  that  notwithstanding  the  exceeding  length  of  the  foregoing, 
and  its  many  unnecessary  details,  they  thought  best  to  offer  it 
for  publication  in  accordance  with  her  wish,  without  alteration. 
They  would  also  add  that  every  name,  except  one,  is  fictitious.] 

Llanwkost,  Caernarvonshire,  Nov.  12,  1864. 


THE    END. 


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